In San Francisco, nobody gave me a second glance. And I loved it. There was no reason to ever return to Montana.
Except, that wasn’t in the cards for me. No matter how hard I tried to cut all ties with Miles City and its merry band of chrome and leather criminals, they just wouldn’t let me go.
After my mother was shot, Jase’s wife was tried, convicted, and shipped off to prison. My mother survived, obviously, but the damage had been devastating. Her memory had suffered, and at first she didn’t remember anyone or anything. Then, slowly, her memory began to return.
She remembered her childhood, her parents, and old friends; she even remembered my father and eventually me.
Then the progression came to a screeching halt. Her last memory of me was as a toddler.
My entire childhood, my teenage years, her meeting Jase and leaving my father, the many years of service she’d devoted to the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club…all of it was gone. Forever, it seemed.
Where did Hawk fit into any of this?
Well, as it turned out, my mother, in the midst of her already fucked-up love triangle, turned to Hawk for the comfort she couldn’t find with Jase.
No one had known.
After my mother had been shot, Hawk appeared at the hospital in a fury. He beat the crap out of Jase, during which he spilled the beans about him and my mother, crudely bringing to light Christopher’s true paternity.
And now…
My mother still didn’t remember either of them. To her, Jase was just some pathetic, broken man who refused to leave her alone, and the husband of the crazy woman who’d shot her. And Hawk was the father of the child she didn’t remember conceiving or carrying.
As for me, it was hard. There was a lot of explaining on my part, rehashing year after year in hopes she’d remember something past my toddler years. A lot of tears were shed, but eventually she came to accept the fact that she forgot two decades of her life, and that I wasn’t her baby anymore but a full-grown woman.
As for Christopher, she loved him instantly. Because she didn’t remember him, he was presented to her as a newborn. The familiar red hair, green eyes, and pale skin hadn’t hurt much either.
Which was great, super. Wonderful, even. But she didn’t remember me and I couldn’t accept it.
I felt alone. Orphaned in a way.
So I blamed Jase and Hawk, as well as the entirety of the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club and their affinity for drama, for all of it.
My mother, as confused as she was, tried to break all ties as well, but Hawk being Christopher’s father made it hard for her. Several women associated with the club, women my mother had been close to, also refused to let her go. They continued to show up for visits and call her periodically despite her protests.
They also pressured her into spending time with Jase, or Hawk, in hopes that it would help trigger a memory.
So yeah, I timed my visits alongside Hawk’s trips home. He stayed on the road mostly, but when he would return, he wanted to see his son ASAP and it was my job to ensure that happened without him intruding on my mother.
“I’ll call the airlines today,” I told her. “I should be able to take a few days off work.”
“Thank you, baby,” she whispered tearfully and I felt my eyes prick in response.
“See you soon,” I said hurriedly, needing to get off the phone before we both ended up in tears. As much progress as she’d made, it was still hard for her to think of me as an adult and seeing her cry, hearing her cry…well, it was hard for me.
She was my mother. The only parent I had, the only person in my life that had ever loved me. I would do anything for her, including make myself miserable.
Hanging up, I halfheartedly threw my cell phone across the room and it landed pathetically in a basket of dirty laundry.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck.”
“Speaking of fuck,” the man beside me said. “And seein’ as you’re already naked…”
I glanced over at him.
ZZ.
Yet another biker in the Hell’s Horsemen Club. Sort of. He didn’t associate with anyone in the club other than Deuce West, the president, and he hadn’t set foot back in Miles City since Danny, Deuce’s prissy-ass little bitch of a daughter, had cheated on him with another Horseman, Ripper, and broken his heart around the same time my mother had been shot.
Deuce’s offspring were good at that…breaking hearts.
All the West kids looked the same no matter who their mothers were. Cage, Danny, and Ivy were all blond with identical dimpled smiles. The girls had been blessed with wide, doe-eyed baby blues and full lips, and Cage…ugh. UGH.
He was beautiful. And an asshole.
Like father, like son.
As for Deuce, I wouldn’t be surprised if every blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and dimpled beauty queen across all fifty states belonged to him.
My body and my looks would always be a sore spot for me. I was ridiculously skinny, and not in the graceful supermodel way, but instead awkward, all elbows and knees like a newborn foal. I had tiny breasts and no hips, my collarbone stuck out, and so did my hipbones.
I was still pale-skinned, red-haired, and freckled.
And I would always be—no matter how many times I looked in the mirror and saw someone not quite as unattractive as before—that stupid and ugly little girl that no one had wanted.
But whatever, I’d accepted the fact that I’d never be beautiful a long time ago.
After my mother’s injury, I returned to San Francisco just in time to start my sophomore year. Two months into fall semester, ZZ showed up looking for a place to crash in his downtime. Other than the Horsemen, he didn’t have anyone else. His father had been one of Deuce’s lifers but had died when ZZ was twelve. Deuce had become his surrogate father and ZZ had taken the path his own father had, into the life. When he was twenty, his mother had passed away, her body ravaged by cancer. Not wanting to return to Miles City and subsequently see Danny or Ripper, he’d tracked me down instead with Deuce’s help.
As much as I wanted to hate Deuce, I couldn’t. Even though I’d gotten a full scholarship from San Francisco University, I still needed money for living expenses. Deuce had paid my rent and all my utilities, even my cell phone service, and provided me with extra spending money throughout my college years.
And, despite my protests, he was still paying for everything. No matter what I said, pleading and begging him to stop, he always refused.
“You’re family,” he’d growl. “And I take care of family.”
It was hard not to appreciate that but I knew deep down he was only doing it for my mother, not for me. They all loved my mother, not just Jase and Hawk, but all of them—the bikers, their old ladies, their kids, even the club whores. She was a mother by nature; she cared for people and enjoyed doing it, and it was damn hard not to love her.
So, really, I was only sort of family. More like the redheaded stepchild of a family full of badass bikers…but still family.
And so was ZZ.
We hardly knew each other, but after six months of periodically rooming together when ZZ wasn’t on the road, one thing had led to another and we ended up fucking. And had been fucking ever since.
Occasionally, I heard ZZ on the phone with Deuce and got the impression he was doing the Horsemen’s dirty work, the kind of shit that never got talked about unless it was in some sort of biker code consisting of broken vowels and grunts. Then he’d leave for a while and the next time he’d show up, he always looked that much more damaged. I asked him once what he’d been doing and the look on his face was so utterly terrifying that I hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask him again. Not that it really mattered to me what he was doing while he wasn’t here.
Ours wasn’t an emotional attachment, we were just…making do. He was too old for me anyway, somewhere in his midthirties. Whereas both Danny and her stepmother, Eva, seemed to like older men, I couldn’t picture ending up with one. Who wanted to b
e in their thirties with an old dude who could no longer get it up? Not me. Not even for a guy as hot as ZZ.
I glanced over at him and ran my eyes down his naked body. Long dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, killer muscles.
I’d never seen a guy work out as much as he did. He ran in place, he lifted weights, he did close to a thousand sit-ups and push-ups combined every day.
The aggression he was always trying to work off was off the fucking charts and I was starting to think exercising wasn’t working.
I watched ZZ palm his cock and point it at me. “Climb on and sit the fuck down.”
“Shut up,” I muttered. “Why are you being so bossy lately?”
He shrugged. “You’re the one who’s haulin’ ass back to Miles City and gotta deal with those assholes. I’m outta here in a few days, maybe for two weeks, maybe for a month, depends on the lineup Deuce sent me and, baby, figured you and me both could both use a good poundin’ before I head out.”
I snorted. “Like you don’t pick up ass wherever you keep disappearing to.”
“I like your ass,” he growled.
“And every other female’s ass in existence,” I finished for him.
“Last three runs,” he shot back angrily. “Haven’t fucked with anyone but you.”
Since ZZ’s version of a calendar was based on mileage and how many runs per year, I tried to remember when his last run was and the one before that and then the one before that.
When I did, I gaped at him. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t fucked anyone but me in over six months?”
His dark eyes bored into mine. “Did I fuckin’ stutter?”
Huh. I suppose in a way it made sense. Why bother with anyone else when you had a person you knew for a fact could physically satisfy you sleeping right beside you?
But still, ZZ and I were not exclusive…at least, we never used to be.
“For fuck’s sake, Tegen, stop overthinkin’ every damn thing. Just get on my goddamn dick and start fuckin’ bouncin’.”
Well, how could I deny such sweet talk?
“It all depends,” I told him. “On whether you want my pussy or my ass.”
He grinned and the expression changed him. Gone was the angry, gruff man I often saw, and in his place was the ZZ I remembered as a kid. The man he’d been before Danny had dug her pink-tipped claws into his chest and ripped out his heart.
“Figure I should give your ass a break,” he said.
Snorting, I climbed on top of him and straddled his thighs. Reaching over to the opposite nightstand, I snagged a condom, tore it open with my teeth, and rolled it down over his cock.
“And that was the right answer,” I told him. “My ass thanks you.”
Grabbing hold of him, I lifted my hips and guided him to my entrance. It took me a moment to work him inside me.
“Make it count,” I told him, then slammed down over him.
Gasping, I folded my body over, my hands clamped down over his biceps. He growled, and his hands flew to my hips.
“Don’t I always?” he said smugly.
I shrugged. “No,” I said, being honest, purposely clenching my inner walls around his cock and watching his face tighten with lust. “You don’t.”
In response, his dark eyes began to burn, his fingertips dug deep into my hips, and I smiled to myself.
He was so easy to piss off and when he was pissed, he fucked like an angry god readying to smite the universe. I had no doubt that now, he would most definitely make it count.
• • •
Cage pulled into the parking lot beside the Silver Demons’ brownstone, shut off his engine, and toed his kickstand down.
He was fucking exhausted. He’d driven straight from Montana to New York and only stopped for gas and once to sleep.
Grabbing his bedroll and duffle, he headed across the parking lot and up the walkway, bumping fists with a few Demons standing outside.
“Preacher ’specting ya?” Tiny asked as he passed by. Cage paused to look at the overweight, sweat-drenched, graying old man who was the Demons’ sergeant-at-arms.
“Naw,” he said. “But I need to crash and I ain’t feel like drivin’ to my boys in Queens.”
“We got a full house,” Tiny said. “But Prez keeps Eva’s old room empty.” Nodding, Cage turned and continued up the walk, ignoring two club whores who were looking him over like he was a piece of meat.
“Horseman,” one of them drawled, a brunette wearing only a bikini top and a leather miniskirt. “You want company tonight?”
Grabbing the handle on the front door, he turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck happened to your nose?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and studying the obvious break that had healed horribly, leaving the poor bitch looking like she’d gone head-to-head in the ring with Evander Holyfield.
Her slutty smile fell from her face and was instantly replaced with a snarl. “Courtesy of your old man, West,” she hissed, her upper lip curling. “Right after I sucked his limp dick.”
Unfazed, Cage continued to stare at her nose, wondering why the fuck she hadn’t had that shit set straight or gotten it fixed, for Christ’s sake.
“Limp dick, huh,” he said. “Not too sure you’re talkin’ ’bout my old man, ’cause that fucker ain’t ever put that thing away. Every time I’m turnin’ around he’s maulin’ his old lady.”
It was true. Eva and his old man were always at it. Always touching and kissing and grossing the hell out of everyone.
The whore’s scowl deepened. “Little blue pills work wonders,” she snarled.
“Forget her,” another bitch said, pushing in front of her friend. “Name’s Gail, honey, but the boys call me Slitty. You wanna find out why?”
Laughing and shaking his head, Cage pushed open the front door and headed inside where he was greeted with more of the same. Club whores and Demons with cuts from various states crowded the hallways and rooms. Must be something big brewing, he surmised, for Preacher to have gathered the masses. Not that he would know; Cage wasn’t privy to this kind of info. But his old man would know, being in as deep with the Demons as the Horsemen were.
Only his old man’s top boys—Mick, Ripper, Cox, and now Tap, who got promoted after ZZ ran off—knew the nitty-gritty.
Which was fucking fine with him; he didn’t need to know shit, he was perfectly happy doing what he was told. Yep. It didn’t bother him at all that his own father didn’t trust him with club business.
Whatever.
Reaching Preacher’s office, he curled his hand into a fist and gave the door a good, hard knock.
“Yeah?” yelled a familiar gruff voice.
Cage grasped the knob and pushed open the door. Damon “Preacher” Fox was alone, sitting behind his monstrous desk, his head bent over a laptop as his fingers tapped hesitantly at the keyboard.
Cage gaped at him. Preacher. Laptop. It wasn’t adding up in his head.
“You know how to use this thing?” Preacher muttered, glancing up at him. “I feel like a fuckin’ rat in a maze over here.”
Cage laughed. “Sorry, that’s Danny’s territory. I ain’t no good with computers.”
Preacher grimaced at the machine, then swiveled around to face him. “Fuck this shit. Take a seat, kid, and tell me how those beautiful sisters of yours is doin’. And that fucker Danny married? They got a baby now, don’t they?”
It was Cage’s turn to grimace. Fucking Ripper. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay with Danny’s choice in men. The asshole had been sleeping with his sister in secret, during which Danny had been forced to kill one of Ripper’s girlfriends because the bitch had pulled a gun on Ripper. And if that weren’t bad enough, Ripper took off after that, leaving Danny alone and out of her mind depressed only to find out later she was knocked up.
After an abortion and a whole lot of misery, Danny started dating ZZ, the best of them, the nicest brother the Horsemen had ever seen, and she’d pulled herself out of it. Then fuck
ing Ripper came back and shit went to hell again. Yeah, they were together now, married with a kid, but at what fucking expense. The club had lost ZZ and Danny wasn’t ever going to be the same fun-loving, ditzy little sister he’d once adored.
So yeah, fuck Ripper.
“They’re fine,” he grumbled, taking a seat in one of Preacher’s uncomfortable high-backed chairs. “He’s fine, the kid is fine too.”
Preacher studied him. “Yeah, good to fuckin’ know, and how ’bout you? You fine too?”
Sure. Why not.
“Yeah,” he said.
Preacher’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah sure, kid. But it ain’t my business. So, movin’ the fuck on. What’s bringin’ you to my neck of the woods? Deuce didn’t say shit about it last time we talked.”
Cage fought back his grimace. Nobody needed to know how he really felt about putting a man to ground. It was the way of his world. Only…he’d thought after the first few times it would have gotten easier.
But it hadn’t.
And if it ever did? Well, Cage feared that day.
“Bannon,” he said, referring to one of the most notorious crime bosses on the East Coast, who ran his business out of Philly. “His right-hand man fucked up, thinkin’ he was just dealin’ with a pack of redneck bikers, and made the mistake of shortchangin’ the Horsemen.”
Preacher grinned, the expression taking a good ten years off the man’s face. Like Cage’s own father and unlike most of the men in this life, Preacher didn’t look his age. His long brown hair had very little gray, although his short-trimmed beard was nearly all gray. Laugh lines gave his already squarely defined features that much more definition. Cage would even go as far as to say that Preacher was definitely a ladies’ man.