Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (15 page)

They’d come up for air just before they showed up on the Raiders’ radar, and here they were—Drake pacing like a caged animal and Delta in jeopardy.

Fuck, what had he done?

The familiar two-thud knock on the back door heralded the “change” had arrived. Drake chin-gestured to the guys to handle it while he stared at the back door.

No noise came from the backroom, but a step sounded behind him. He threw a look at Jamison—and Ever.

“What’s going on?” Jamison asked.

He’d had no time to run this plan by his VP. He was too busy with his face buried between Delta’s smooth thighs, getting a tongue cramp.

“Where’s Delta?” Ever asked.

Drake had to get them away from the door, but he wasn’t about to stand more than two fucking paces away. His weapon dug into his spine as he took Ever’s shoulder and steered her away.

“She’s a little busy right now.”

Ever’s blue eyes—so similar to her sister’s—narrowed in suspicion. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jamison put an arm around her as if prepared to restrain her. “Care to fill us in, Drake?”

He shot a look at the door. “Not just now.”

Some noises from beyond the door. A chair scraping floor. A feminine voice.

The door opened, and Delta came through, flushed and safe.

Drake’s heart turned over, and he rushed forward.

Meat poked his head through the door. “Get her out of here.”

He didn’t pause for a family reunion. He grabbed Delta, and Jamison grabbed Ever. They were out the back and into the delivery truck in seconds. Jamison got behind the wheel and they squashed Ever between them. Delta had no choice but to sit on Drake’s lap.

“You’d better have a damn good explanation, bro.” Jamison’s tone was hard as he backed out, threw the truck in drive, and squealed tires.

Delta was shaking. He inched his fingers around her side and when he didn’t feel the gun he’d placed there, he stared at her hard.

She dropped her face to his shoulder and didn’t speak.

“Right now would be nice, Drake,” Jamison threatened.

“What’s happened to my sister? If you’ve hurt her, Drake, I’ll kill you myself.” Ever’s eyes shot blue bullets.

“She’s not hurt.” At least he hoped she wasn’t.

Delta shook her head but didn’t lift it.

“Just get us somewhere quiet so we can talk.” Drake held onto her, cuddling her close as Jamison wove through the streets to the suburbs. The house they pulled up to was unfamiliar.

“Good choice,” Ever said to her man.

Jamison got out first, and they all followed him to the door of the small single-family home in a cleaner part of town than any of them typically saw. Neighborhoods like this were for nice families with double incomes and backyard baseball.

Once inside, Ever embraced her sister for a long minute.

“What happened?” she asked, but Delta shook her head.

“She’s not talking, which means you’d better.” Jamison’s order brooked no argument.

“I need Delta first.” Drake wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her through the small rooms into a kitchen. It was clean and bright, a place where a woman would make breakfast for her family and smile sleepily at her husband before he left for work.

He trapped Delta’s face between his hands. “What happened to your gun?”

“Meatball has it.”

Confusion etched itself between his brows. It took him a full minute to figure out she meant Meat. A hysterical laugh rose in him, and he barely swallowed it.

She’d stopped shaking.

“You’re safe, Princess. Now talk.”

Ever burst into the room with Jamison on her heels. “Drake, if you don’t let me at my sister, you’re going to regret having man-parts.”

Delta laughed, a full, throaty sound that stirred his lust. He searched her features, but the fearful woman who’d come out of the backroom was gone, replaced by the confident vixen who’d gone in.

She started to pull free of his touch, but he skimmed his lips over her ear in an amorous display. “At least tell me what you learned.”

She twisted her lips into his and let him taste her words. “He’s Russian.”

•●•

Delta’s stomach rumbled as Ever moved around the kitchen, throwing together a spaghetti dinner. She kicked her heels off and offered to make a salad. As they worked elbow to elbow, Delta’s inner quaking stopped altogether.

Nothing had really
happened
in the backroom. The men had made a few plays, and she’d done her best to distract them. Someone had put cards in her hands, and Vasily had pushed some money forward for her use.

That was his name—Vasily. He’d whispered it to her in a thick accent, his voice rumbling through every nerve ending.

She’d played the part, flirting. She’d lost the hand very quickly and stood, throwing smiles at the protests of the four men who sat there. “I promise to come back. Thank you for letting me play a hand.”

She’d dropped the Russian a wink and hurried out. On the way, Meat’s eyes had grown wide, and as she’d passed, he’d reached out and snagged the little gun that had worked its way out of her bodice.

No one had laid a hand on her, but while among those men, she’d been an object. The strong desire to drop to her knees and become Girl again had scared the fuck out of her.

Drake’s gaze burned into her as she shredded lettuce. “Whose house is this?” His tone didn’t give away the tension he wore.

“Mine,” Ever said. “Well, I rent it.”

“Why?” He stared at Delta until she gave in and looked up. Electricity sizzled along her veins.

Jamison lit a cigarette and blew smoke to the side. His focus was solely on Ever’s ass. The luscious scents of frying onions, garlic, and ground beef filled the room. “Sometimes the club is too crowded, right, baby?”

Her smile was a sunny day. She abandoned the spatula and frying pan to slip into his arms.

Delta met Drake’s gaze to find bald lust in his eyes. Warmth pooled in her lower belly and down to the folds of her pussy.

“Food’s burning,” Ever said, twisting in Jamison’s hold.

Reluctantly he released her and patted her ass as she returned to her task. Drake arched a brow at Delta, and her mouth went dry. Was it apparent to him how much she burned? She had an urge to flip up her skirt and beg for it.

He propped an elbow on the table and pressed his mouth against his fist. Above the tanned, tattooed hand, he started at her unwaveringly.

Delta sprinkled some cherry tomatoes on the salad and added a few onion slices her sister had cut.

Jamison leaned back and smoked as if watching his woman was a full-time job. He hadn’t gotten answers from Drake, but he didn’t break the domestic spell by asking.

A surreal veil fell over Delta. If not for the men wearing cuts, she might believe the four of them everyday people. No counterfeit money or secret gambling rings. The juvenile part of her mind that still believed in fairytales wandered.

She and Drake might be visiting her sister and Jamison, sharing a quiet meal after work. Then Drake would take her home and undress her with candles in his eyes.

“Delta, do you mind getting the salad dressing out of the fridge?” Ever nudged her.

She started, her gaze flying to Drake’s. His face didn’t seem so unreadable right now. The corner of his lips weren’t exactly tilted up, but they were softened. He’d dropped his fist to the table, where it laid relaxed, long fingers beautifully tapered and inked.

“Delta?” Ever’s voice broke through her haze a second time.

With a smile and shake of his head, Jamison stubbed out his cigarette in a pottery ashtray. Ever stirred the pasta while Delta reached into the fridge. It was well-stocked with essentials to make several meals, including breakfast. Would it be possible for her and Drake to stay here?

Jamison and Drake struck up a conversation that, as far as she could tell, had nothing to do with the club. They were kicked back, legs stretched out. Delta provided them each with a beer. Drake refused his but supplied her with a bone-melting wink.

She and Ever discussed her dress and the shoes she’d kicked off. Delta asked about the flowy, blood orange top her sister wore, and Ever told her about a nice boutique in town that had begun to stock items in this color just for her.

It all seemed very normal.

And unreal.

Delta waited for the Raiders to burst into the light, airy kitchen and take it all away from her.

By the time they got the food on the table, the fairytale was dissolved. Before Jamison took a bite of the spaghetti he’d twined around his fork, he demanded to be told what the hell was going on.

Drake didn’t hold anything back. When he got to the part about Delta insisting on going into the gambling operation, Ever threw down her fork. It clattered to the plate, and a few drops of marinara splattered across the table.

“You put her in danger?”

“I wasn’t in danger. Not once.”

“You were shaking like crazy when you came out. Your face was as white as flour.”

“I wasn’t in danger,” she insisted. She stared into Drake’s eyes, hoping to convince him, but his face was shuttered again, the cold mask in place.

The appetite she’d nurtured for the past half hour while they cooked in harmony turned into a hard cramp in her stomach. She placed her fork beside her plate. It was time to speak her part.

“Every man in that room was courteous to me. No one laid a hand on me, and Meatba—Meat,” she corrected herself, “had everything under control. But it didn’t take me more than two minutes to get the information Drake wanted.”

He leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“The man you’re watching, his name’s Vasily. He gave me money to play, but I lost.”

“Did he tell you he’s Russian?” Jamison asked.

She shook her head. “I just know. His accent, his name.” She’d known a few Russians in the past. For a spell, the Raiders had dealt with them.

Lucky nearly gave me to them.

Russians bought up prostitutes and transported them to their mother country, where they’d get big money for them. They brought Russian women to sell in the States and took a handful of unfortunate Americans back with them each trip. Word was they were getting huge prices for Americans, and Lucky had hoped to get a fair deal for Delta.

A sick ball settled in her stomach, and she gave up eating altogether.

Ever placed a warm hand on Delta’s forearm. Delta looked up, stunned by the fact that she shared the same blue eyes with this woman—they shared a mother. Family ties couldn’t be severed.

Jamison asked questions, and Drake answered plainly. Unprovoked, the Russian had spat in his face, which had started the brawl the previous day.

“You’d never seen this man before?”

When Drake shook his head, some of the dark hair he kept slicked back loosened and tumbled over his forehead. Delta’s fingers itched to smooth it away. She took a bite of food instead.

“My guess is the guy recognized me as a threat. He knew I was in charge when I walked in the room, and he was trying to distract me.”

“From?” Jamison arched a brow.

“From the money. Last time I took a hundred off the stack and pocketed it. He either believes I spent it or he knows I had it checked out.”

Jamison bobbed his head. “Makes sense. Then he threw some punches?”

“After I ripped him out of his chair and threw him against a wall.”

Delta shivered.

“I got some blows in too, and then someone smashed a chair over my back.”

The smashing of wood had been the alert to Delta. She hoped he didn’t tell them how she’d gone a little crazy, throwing herself at the door to get inside.

“
Someone
was distracting as hell at that point.” His slow words washed through her, making her run hot and cold.

“What did Delta do?” Ever asked, scooping sauce on a piece of Italian bread.

“She tried to break down the door.”

Jamison snorted. “Must run in the family.”

Ever’s whole body moved as she delivered a kick under the table. Jamison’s smile widened, and they dropped the subject to eat.

Once Delta’s stomach was full, she felt herself sinking in her chair. Drake hadn’t let her sleep a wink last night. She had no idea how he was still operating at a hundred-ten percent, but he was.