Page 6 of Tattered on My Sleeve (Lost Kings MC 4)

  Yeah, maybe a walk down bad memory lane is what my brother needs to get his head in the right space for tonight. “Because they buy everything we grow.”

  He grunts at me.

  "And when we stopped moving stuff for the Mexicans and growing our own shit, they stuck with us." I remind him.

  He nods and finally glances at me, a wry smile twisting his mouth up. "Still doesn’t explain why that mouthy little punk insists I be there for every damn drop."

  "I think he’s got a crush on you, prez."

  He doesn’t seem to find that as amusing as I do.

  "So what’s the story with the uptight lawyer chick? How was she?" Nope, by the look on his face, he’s not in a joking mood. If I had to guess—he’s considering dismembering me and scattering my body parts around the club’s property.

  "Do you have some sort of death wish you need to discuss with me?" Yup. My brother’s got murder on his mind.

  Where exactly does he see things going with this chick? "She your ol’ lady now?"

  He’s quick to answer. "Yeah, she’s gonna be."

  I swallow down the first thing I want to say, which is—Are you fucking serious? "Wow, that’s big, prez. We don’t got any ol’ ladies right now. So that’s huge," I say instead.

  “I’m sure Trinity wouldn’t mind you making her an ol’ lady,” he says, just to be a dick.

  What can I say? We fucked up good there. She’s never going to forgive me, and I can’t forgive her. “That’s never going to happen, prez.”

  “Why? She’s a good girl. She’s gorgeous. Knows when to keep her mouth shut. Knows her way around the club.”

  He just had to say that, didn’t he? I know he didn’t mean it the way I took it, but it still stings, especially after last night. “That’s the problem. She knows her way around the club a little too well.”

  “Oh please, you’ve fucked every skank within a hundred-mile radius, so what’s the difference?” He’s right. But none of those skanks were her sisters. Well, I guess the other club girls are… sorta.

  Whatever. This isn’t the first time Rock’s expressed his strong opinion on this subject. He’s very much a What’s good for the goose type of fellow. But since he apparently plans to make a total outsider his ol’ lady, I’m of the mindset he should take his self-righteous attitude and shove it up his ass. I’m about to say so, when Trinity’s voice comes out of nowhere.

  “The difference is, I wouldn’t be his old lady if he got down on both knees and begged in front of the entire club.” The hurt in her voice shames the shit out of me.

  “Fuck, Trinny. I should make you wear a damn bell around your neck,” Rock teases.

  She walks around the corner with a pained smile. Won’t even look at me. I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

  “Thanks for sticking up for me, Rock,” she says softly, still not glancing my way.

  Rock holds out his arms to her, and she hurries over, throwing a nasty glare my way. He gives her a hug and tries to make her feel better. “You’re a big help to the club, Trinny, and we all appreciate what you do.”

  “I know that’s not true. But I know you appreciate it and that’s all that matters.”

  Rock pats her hip, and white, ragey spots spar with my eyes. I don’t know why. I hate how tight the two of them are. Always have. They share secrets the rest of us know nothing about, and it drives me nuts. She was mine first. It should have been me she confided in.

  “You headed out, babe?” Rock asks as they both continue to ignore me.

  “Kitchen’s all cleaned up for now. There’s still some girls inside, so if it gets messed up again, they’ll take care of it.”

  “Good deal. You coming back later?”

  Finally, she looks at me, and I prepare to apologize for my shitty comments.

  “No. I’ve got a date tonight,” she announces.

  Fuck this shit.

  I don’t actually have a date. But pissing Wrath off feels pretty fucking good after the bullshit he’s been tossing at me all morning. After the crack about my name in front of Rock’s girl, I gave serious consideration to returning from the kitchen with a knife to slit his throat.

  And Teller. Well, at least I know what he really thinks of me. I hope he had fun last night because that’s the last time I’m crawling into bed with him for a long fucking time.

  As usual, Rock stands up for me. And not just because he doesn’t want them saying that shit in front of his woman. Because he doesn’t tolerate any disrespect toward me or any of the girls. He knows full well what goes on in his clubhouse, but he’s never once made me feel like shit about it.

  Nor has he ever made a move on me.

  In eight years, he hasn’t once treated me as anything other than a friend under his protection.

  In return, there’s nothing I won’t do for him.

  Not since my father was alive have I trusted a man the way I trust Rock.

  For a brief time, I thought I could trust Wrath that way. Look where that got me.

  The door slams shut after Wrath stomps off like a pissed-off toddler, and I can’t help laughing.

  “That was fun.”

  Rock smirks at me. "Thanks, babe. He’s had it coming all morning."

  Yup. Definitely caught that vibe. "I like Hope. Will we be seeing more of her around here?"

  Rock seems pleased. "That’s the plan."

  "Good. It’s about time you find the right woman. You do so much for everyone. You deserve to be happy too." He seems embarrassed by my words, but I mean every one of them. I’ve seen Rock with an endless parade of dancers and club girls. I’ve never seen him with a civilian woman. I’ve never seen him this at ease and happy either. That woman better be prepared, because Rock’s not letting her go anytime soon.

  "Think you can show her the ropes? Ease her in slow?" he asks.

  I’m going to have my work cut out for me on that front. "Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you, prez." My first priority’s gonna be keeping her away from Wrath. I know him well enough to know he’s not going to tolerate an outsider real well. Especially one so tight with his president.

  I keep that to myself, though. That falls under the category of club business, which is not my business.

  Speaking of business people shouldn’t meddle in. "Don’t worry about Wrath and me. It’s never going to happen. I’m over it," I say, just in case Rock gets the urge to play matchmaker again.

  He sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. "Trinity—"

  Nope. Not happening. I can’t tolerate pity from him. "Seriously, Rock. I’m fine."

  The only thing on my mind on the long drive to our drop-off with the Green Street Crew is Rock’s unease before we left the clubhouse.

  Motherfucker has one hell of an intuition. There was a brief time when he held my position in the club. His instincts have saved our lives more than once over the years.

  So if Rock’s uneasy, I’m anxious and alert for trouble. Even more than I usually am.

  Riverwalk Park is deserted. My gaze sweeps the shadows as we roll in. No hidden cars tucked in any corners, nothing. The park is serene and empty.

  While Rock makes small talk with GSC’s shotcaller, Gunner, I continue inspecting the area. Any couples looking for a quiet place to park and fuck tonight will be redirected elsewhere.

  Thumping bass music from an incoming SUV gets me trigger twitchy, and I keep my hand on my piece while I walk over to Rock.

  It’s just the other two dipshits from Gunner’s crew. Bunch of useless fucking twats, every one of them. Well, the nice, fat duffel bag of cash is useful and the only reason we’re here.

  After we do our exchange—weed for cash—Gunner and Rock step aside to talk. This annoys the fuck out of me. These drops should be quick. Get in. Get out. The longer we stand around scratching our asses, the more risks we take.

  My point’s proven about two seconds later when the distinct sound of Harleys roars into the park.

  “Wrap

it up,” Rock shouts, and that’s my cue to get on my hog and lead us the fuck out.

  But I don’t even get to start her up.

  The bikes come into view, two punks who have no clue how to control the machines they’re riding or the guns they’re shooting.

  One of them aims at Gunner. I couldn’t give two fucks about the punk, but my president’s standing right next to him.

  I launch myself at the kid with the gun, punching him clean off the bike.

  Somewhere, there’s a god who favors angry biker thugs, because this is exactly what I need tonight.

  The thrill of adrenaline rushes through me. I love to fight, but while I get my kicks by sparring with my brothers from time to time and the occasional underground fight, I always hold back so I don’t kill someone.

  I don’t have to hold back this time.

  Fuck yes.

  Blood pounds through me as I land one blow to the fucker’s face. I drill a second jab into his gut.

  The punk doesn’t do much in the way of fighting back. Kinda takes all the fun out of it for me. I still punch him a few more times. For fuck’s sake, he shot at us. He’s earned every hit.

  Barely out of breath, I stand but keep my foot on the kid’s chest so I can keep an eye on Rock. He’s no slouch in the fighting department. Trained him myself. He’s a big fucker—not as big as me, but then not many men are. One deadly motherfucker too, but he has an incredible amount of self-control, something I’ve always lacked.

  I laugh as the kid lands a few hits, doubting Rock even noticed. When the punk’s down, Rock hauls him up. I remove my foot and pick up my prize too.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rock shouts at the kid who reanimates enough to mouth off and spit at Rock.

  Aw, buddy, big mistake.

  Rock plants his fist in the kid’s gut hard enough to make him puke.

  Gunner—not sure what he was doing the whole time we were taking care of this mess for him—puts his gun to the kid on the ground and starts questioning him. Kid’s in no condition to answer.

  Mine is, and I give him a shake to get him talking.

  “You punks lift these from someone?” Rock asks, gesturing at the downed Harleys.

  "Yes! We picked them up outside the Green Room."

  Holy fuck, that’s Viper territory. What the fuck did we step in tonight?

  "Are you two suicidal or plain stupid?" Rock asks. Damn good question.

  Gunner moves like he’s going to shoot them.

  Rock halts him with a hand on his arm, lowering the weapon. "Not so fast."

  "Grab some zip ties and a Sharpie," he tells Bricks.

  Personally, I prefer to shoot them and dump them in the Hudson River. It’s only an additional ten feet from the spot we drag them to.

  We tie them to a tree and leave a message for the Vipers when they find them.

  Whatever. “Should do,” I say.

  After Rock finishes with Gunner, he sends our crew on their way. One look at him and I see he’s still lit up from the fight.

  “Where you going, prez?” Our usual routine after something like this used to be hittin’ up Crystal Ball, finding a couple dancers, and fucking the living daylights out of them.

  Rock scowls at me. He doesn’t even have to answer. I know exactly where he’s going. “Hope’s,” he answers.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  "Tell her I said hi."

  He flips me off.

  Together we leave the park. At the exit, he stops close enough to tap his knuckles against mine. “Shiny side up, brother. You did fuckin’ great tonight,” he shouts over the combined rumble of our engines. Then he’s gone.

  I take the long way back to the clubhouse so I can replay everything that happened and see where I fucked up. What a bizarre night. Fuckin’ 18th Street Boyz. Worthless punks. The club’s been through so much bad shit together that the idea of being taken out by some young thug flashing around a gun he doesn’t know how to use seems almost fitting.

  Trinity’s Jeep clears the gate ahead of me. Back from her date early I guess.

  I hang back and ride up the driveway slow.

  Suddenly, the events of the day sink into me, and I’m just bone-weary tired. Got no fight left in me. I back my bike into its spot and wait for Trinity to go inside first. She hasn’t opened her car door yet. Maybe she’s trying to wait me out? Tired of fucking around, I get off my bike and head inside. Behind me, the soft crunch of her smaller feet hurrying over the gravel makes me pause and hold the door open for her.

  “Thanks,” she says in a breathless rush.

  Once we’re both inside, I stop and give her a once-over. She’s dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt and carrying a backpack. Not sure what the fuck kind of date she’s been on.

  “Date over early?” I ask with a sneer.

  Her startled, wide-eyed expression makes me feel like shit. “What?”

  “You said you had a date tonight.” I jerk my chin at her backpack. “Were you planning to spend the night?”

  Her eyes gloss over with tears. Holy fuck. Why can’t I learn to keep my mouth shut? “Shit, Trinity. I’m just messing with you,” I say, reaching out to give her an awkward hug.

  “I didn’t have a date,” she mutters.

  Thank fuck.

  This particular Saturday night, the clubhouse is quiet. Usually is nights we have a drop-off. Never know what’ll go down, and brothers need to be alert and available—not drunk and elbow deep in pussy—in case shit goes bad. Sparky’s waiting in the living room, and I flash him a thumbs-up sign. He grins and heads back downstairs.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Trinity asks.

  “Rock took off for Hope’s place.”

  Trinity smiles at that. “She’s nice. I’m happy for prez.”

  I grunt because I’m not so sure about that chick and how good she’s going to be for the club.

  “Rest of the guys had the van, so I’m assuming they stopped to get dinner or something.”

  “You hungry?” she asks.

  After the shitty way I acted this morning, I’m shocked she’s even speaking to me, so I don’t answer right away. I mean, she feeds me breakfast and stuff all the time. But she never offers. I show up in the dining room with everyone else, and she throws whatever she’s made at me. Just as she does for all the guys.

  “Sure.”

  I follow her down the hallway. “I gotta drop this in my room.” I follow her to her door, but she only opens it only wide enough to set her bag inside.

  “Anyone ever been in there besides you?” I tease.

  “You know the answer to that.”

  Yes, I do. When we first moved out here, Rock made it abundantly clear none of us were ever to enter her room unless expressly invited by her.

  Yes, that’s exactly the way he put it.

  Chuckling, I follow her to the dining room. It’s late, so I’m not expecting her to cook for me or anything. Which is good, because she only sets out cereal and milk.

  “Thanks, babe.”

  We eat in silence, but it’s nice being together without all the extra hostility. Suddenly, I’m feeling anxious. When the guys return, all of this niceness between us will disappear. And I really don’t want it to. I like being alone with her. This house is always full of people; it’s easy for us to avoid each other. I can’t ask her up to my room without her getting the wrong idea. She’ll never invite me into her room. The war room has a couch and TV set up. Maybe I can talk her into watching a movie with me.

  Excited about this plan, I clean up after us and hustle her out of the kitchen. “Wanna watch a movie?”

  She gives me the strangest look. “Okay.”

  When she heads into the main room, I pull out my keys and open up the war room.

  “I thought—”

  “You’re with me. It’s fine.”

  Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the table where we hold church every week and anytime something urgent comes up that r

equires a vote.

  “Which one is yours?” she asks.

  I point it out. The chair at the right hand of the president’s throne.

  “Yeah.” She nods absently.

  Not sure why she’s so solemn all of a sudden, I nudge her to the couch. She tosses me a curious look, like maybe I brought her in here for another reason.

  “What are you in the mood for?” I ask with a nod at the television.

  Her eyes flick to the screen as I flip it on and key into the on-demand screen.

  “Something scary,” she answers.

  I’m definitely on board with that. From memory, I know she jumps at every little thing.

  Maybe she’ll jump right into my lap if I’m lucky.

  Eight years ago…

  For the third night in a row, I found myself at the Blue Fox Tavern, watching Trinity. All day, I’d told myself I wasn’t showing up again. But there I was.

  I was so fucked.

  She kept glancing at me shyly all night.

  Before Trinity, I’d never considered myself an ass man. The snug black jeans she had her perfect little heart-shaped butt stuffed into turned me into a believer. She kept bending over to get stuff from the lower shelves. Once or twice, she tossed a look over her shoulder and caught me staring. A blush stained her cheeks.

  Tonight, she’d abandoned her trusty kicks in favor of a pair of fuck-me pumps. I really wanted to know who she was so dressed-up for.

  If it was another guy, the possessive, ragey beast in me wouldn’t handle it well.

  The rest of our date at Fletcher Park had been perfect. After fucking ourselves into exhaustion, she’d fallen asleep in my arms. When the first tendrils of daybreak curled into the sky, I nudged her awake and helped her dress. We watched the sun come up together, the awed expression on her face no match for a simple sunrise. We hurried back to my bike and took off before park security caught wind of us.

  I’d planned to drop her off at her apartment, but she invited me inside. For some reason, I couldn’t say no to this chick and hated being away from her. We slept until noon, when I got a call from Rock demanding I get my ass to Crystal Ball.

  I sent her a text to explain, but maybe she was annoyed to wake up and find me gone again.