Love Ties (31 page)

Blacky and the other Raider spoke quietly for long minutes. She couldn’t make out their words, but they were definitely secretive. Blacky stared at her more than once. She rested her head on the arm of the sofa, pretending fatigue.

Minutes later the other guy got up and clapped Blacky on the shoulder. He left the room.

Ever raised her head, heart pounding. She and Blacky were alone.

He was sleek and still good-looking. He had all his teeth, and the black hair he was known for shined. He wore black pants and a black shirt under his leather jacket, and boots like the ones the guards had worn when they kicked her.

He raised his chin at her. A crawling sensation worked over her skin and settled in her stomach. What did he want?

Slowly he got up and came to sit in the chair across from her. His rolling walk oozed confidence. She sat up straighter and placed her feet on the floor, ready to run if necessary.

“Easy, girl. I just want to have some friendly conversation.” He plunked into the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee, eying her. Just last night she’d watched him get blow jobs from two girls at once. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his demands—whatever they were.

She eased to the edge of the sofa cushion.

Blacky reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He flicked the pack, and one popped up, which he put between his lips. Then he offered the pack to her. She shook her head.

“Don’t smoke anymore, Ever?”

“Sometimes.”

“I haven’t seen you drinking, either.”

She shrugged. “I haven’t been in the mood.”

“No? What about sex? You getting plenty of that from Stone?”

Bile gathered in her throat. “That’s between me and Stone.”

He lit the cigarette and blew smoke straight at her. She didn’t fan it away, just calmly looked at him.

“I see Stone going with Gabriella. She sucked his cock last night. Why wasn’t it you?”

Ever shifted, ready to escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reached into his leather and came out with a stack of photos. With a grin he held them out to her. Reluctantly, she took them. Heart a wild bird in her chest, she stared at the first one.

Jamison on his bike, adjusting his helmet.

Her breathing hitched.

The next picture was dark, but the outline of Jamison’s body was clear. He had a girl pinned to a building. Not any girl—Ever. Five more pictures of her in various compromising positions with him. Arms around him, kissing him, whispering into his ear.

These were taken at the tool shed.

Dread filled her stomach.

She met Blacky’s gaze. “What do you want?”

He blew out more smoke. It burned her eyes. “I know you told him about the location of my little side business. The Hell’s Sons are planning a raid.”

“Police?”

“No. We take care of business like this without the law.”

He knew about her involvement with the Hell’s Sons. These pictures, if given to almost any man in the club, would get her killed. Seagraves, Stone…they’d shoot her without second thoughts. Even Crash couldn’t get her out of this jam.

Now the real question was how did Blacky intend to use this information? He was obviously dangling it over her head.

“You’ve known for some time about my tie to the Hell’s Sons. Why now?” She held out the photos.

“We’re making a trade, dear. I am not going to let the Hell’s Sons invade my warehouse. That means I need you to be there.”

Her blood ran cold. “How does that work?”

“Those pictures indicate someone cares for you.”

Not anymore.

“I use you to stop them in their tracks.”

She tilted her chin up. “What makes you believe they won’t shoot me to get to you?”

He leaned forward and pointed at the top picture, which was Jamison with his mouth slanted across hers. Her skin rippled in memory of his touch. “That passion I see. That’s love, little girl. He isn’t going to let you die.”

So Blacky was going to use her, hold her hostage and as leverage against the Hell’s Sons when they raided.

“When is this going down?”

“Three nights from now.”

She nodded slowly. “If I help you, you won’t give me up to the Raiders.”

“Exactly. We’ve come to an understanding.”

“If I refuse?”

“I have copies of these photographs. I put them in Seagraves’s and Stone’s hands within the hour.”

She stared into Blacky’s eyes. Hating him, despising herself more. She’d meant to help the Hell’s Sons by providing the intel they needed. She’d given Blacky the dirt on her riding between two clubs, hoping to take the heat off Sarah and Cassidy.

Either way this played out, Ever was the loser.

If she made it out alive, she had no more ties, no one to care for her, no love.

What had she done?

She didn’t have a choice. “I’ll do it. You know where to find me.”

He unfolded himself from the chair, bigger and more menacing when he stood over her. “Keep the pictures.”

She couldn’t look away from them.

What had Blacky said? That’s love. He isn’t going to let you die.

Hands shaking, she flipped through the photos twice before realizing his footsteps had faded away, and she was alone, ten steps from the pit.

She flashed to her feet and rushed to the door. It was open, and since it was daytime, she was able to see without turning on the light. She closed the door and hurried to the safe.

Her fingers got all tangled up on the dial, and her mind fogged, obliterating the damn combination. What the fuck was it? 10-30-53.

Harsh breaths escaped her as she turned the dial. The tumblers clicked. Holding her breath now, she tried the heavy door.

The tall safe was brimming with guns and cash. More money than she’d ever seen in her life lined the shelves, along with a few gold bars. A selection of elite automatic guns filled another shelf.

And on the bottom was a box.

She dropped to her knees and pulled it out. Through the pounding in her ears, she listened for someone approaching the pit. She rifled the box, reading as fast as possible. The things in this box would get them all the death penalty if found. Was Seagraves really stupid enough to keep such information?

Nothing was spelled out—but the names tipped her off. Cartels, gun traders in Canada. It was all here if one put the puzzle pieces together.

She searched for Peerson and found her father’s signature, as scrawled and illegible as a doctor’s. Attached to the next sheet was his president’s patch, stapled by one corner. She ripped it free and stuck it in her pocket.

She wasn’t about to find a piece of paper stating someone had put a hit on her mother, but she could read between the lines. Five names were associated with her family’s.

When she saw “baby girl,” she swallowed a gasp. What did the club need with information about her birth?

Then she spotted the date. She wasn’t baby girl Peerson. No, it was another girl.

Wildly, she tore the sheet from the folder and stuffed it up her shirt, flat against her skin. Digging into the folder once more, she scoured a few scribbles in the corner of a notecard.

Gut instinct told her she needed to take it, and fast. She pulled the card free and added it to her pocket. Then she neatened the papers she’d just searched and nudged the box back into place.

Jesus, what intel did she possess? She had no fucking idea, but she had to get out of here.

She closed the safe door as quietly as possible and spun the dial. Heart throbbing in every corner of her body, she peeked into the other room and found it empty.

Relief was an ice bath. Her scalp prickled as she slipped out of the pit and closed the door. Then with a hand flat on her stomach to hold the stolen paper in position, she strode down the corridor to the only place a woman could be alone—the bathroom.

She slammed the door and twisted the lock. Then breathing shallowly against the smell of urine and vomit, she pulled out the paper. It seemed to scorch her fingers. The words swam in her vision.

Certificate of birth. Baby girl Peerson. The date of birth was over a year after Ever’s birth. But it was a Peerson baby, and her mom’s name was there, plain as day.

Ever started to shake. The date...a sister.

Her knees buckled, and she sat hard on the closed toilet lid. The paper in her hands fluttered like a dying bird.

Or maybe a bird trying to live.

When Ever was still a baby, her mother had birthed another girl. Unless these dates and the certificate were all bogus, Ever had a sister.

Tears burst from her like blood spouting from an artery. Hot droplets and a running nose, complete with racking sobs. Anger and sadness mingled with elation and hope. Everyone had let her believe her entire family had been ripped from her.

For long minutes she fought for control. She looked at the birth certificate again and then folded it up and stuck it in her back pocket. She stared at the notecard and scribbled names. Two of the men were still active in this club. The rest she’d find.

She stopped breathing.

Ended—Satkowsky. There was a dollar amount there that would feed a family of six for a year.

Could it be her mother who had been ended? And by this man?

She pocketed the card and fingered the president patch. Her father had worn this on his cut. She remembered sitting on his lap and stroking the black letters, her thumb in her mouth.

She ripped a length of toilet paper off the roll and wadded it up. After wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she felt better. She splashed water on her face and tried to cut some of the redness from crying.

When she came out of the bathroom, no one was around, which was good because she needed to make a call. Several phones in the club were for business. People called for drugs or girls at all hours of the day. It was a wonder the MC wasn’t under more surveillance from the law, but the Raiders probably kept a tight rein on their business. She didn’t think they were in cahoots with the police like the Hell’s Sons.

Glancing around and finding herself alone, she snatched up the phone and dialed the only person in the world she wanted to help her.

•●•

Jamison shoved the sweet butt’s hand off his shoulder as soon as he heard Ever’s faint voice. The girl gave him a dirty look, but he ignored her. Shooting to his feet, he strode outside to take the call.

“Jamie, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

His heart turned over at his name from her lips. “Yeah.”

“I don’t have much time, but I need help. You have to get me out of here.”

Every hair on his body lifted in response to her plea. No matter how she’d hurt him or how many times she’d fucked Stone, Jamison wanted her.

“Jamie, please answer me.”

“Of course, baby. Tell me where and how.”

“There’s a…a drain pipe.” She sounded distracted. What was going on around her? Hell, he’d seen the little blip of light that was her tracking device on screen—he’d looked at it over and over again since leaving her with the Raiders. But he had no way of knowing if she was in danger right this minute.

Helpless fury shot his pulse through the roof.

“A drain pipe,” he prompted.

“Yeah, off the side street behind the club. The river floods up this far sometimes, and it’s a big pipe. I think I can hide in it.”

Fucking hell. He jammed his fingers through his hair, sweat breaking out on his brow.

“Okay, I’ll find it, baby.”

“I’ll get out. I have to get out. I have—” She cut off, and muffled sounds filled his ear. Clutching the phone, he ran for his bike.

As he was swinging his leg over the steel, Ever’s voice came through again.

“Twenty minutes, Jamie. And I’m so very sorry.” Tears clogged her words, and his own lay salty on his tongue.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. I’m coming.”

Before he’d ridden two blocks, Ace was beside him. Copilot was in the sidecar, panting, ready to follow his master into any situation, even danger.

Jamison warmed from his brother’s presence. They nodded at each other, and Jamison headed to the meeting place.

Ever’s urgent words echoed in his soul. Part of him knew this could be her laying a trap. Maybe the Raiders wanted retaliation for the deaths of their brothers. But Jamison wouldn’t believe it.

How the fuck was she going to get out of the club in broad fucking daylight? They weren’t going to just let her walk away.

When he pulled up to a curb a block from the overpass with the drain pipe, he swept the area. Ace’s hand was on his weapon.

“This don’t feel right, man. Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

Jamison dismounted, and Ace did too. They stared at each other for several seconds. Then Jamison pulled his brother into his embrace. He smacked Ace on the back, and it was enough for them both. The bond was restored. Copilot wagged his tail.

They straightened, and Jamison filled his friend in on Ever’s phone call.

Ace’s features froze. Then in a flurry he pulled out his phone. After pushing a few buttons, he had her on screen.

“Jesus,” Jamison breathed.

She was still in the clubhouse, but obviously by an exit. Jamison’s pulse rate soared.

“This ain’t good, man,” Ace said.

“No, it isn’t. If she can’t get away, we’ll have to go in.”

“We won’t have much backup. Prez won’t order it.”

“Fuck the prez. The brothers will support me.” Deep down, he knew it. There was talk about how Strother had brought a vote to the table that would get a lot of Sons killed. It seemed most of the guys were rethinking their votes, seeing Strother’s dirty side of the coin of his personality.

They’d found the warehouse Ever had spoken of, and they were raiding it in three days. Jamison chalked Strother’s decisions up to unrest after his son’s death, but it couldn’t go further than this. After this was ended, the Hell’s Sons needed peace.

With some reluctance, Jamison had taken back his VP patch. A couple sweet butts had offered to wash away Ever’s touch, and they’d both offered to sew his patch on for him. But he’d refused, creating the stitches himself. He’d keep those girls at arms’ length, especially since he didn’t give a damn about them.