Hawk Wild (Lost Boys MC Book 2) Page 2

  But he doesn’t fucking move.

  Just stares right at me.

  With a fucking smirk on his face. Like he’s happy I’m pissed at him.

  Good.

  Because I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

  2

  “YOU GUYS GOT any beer here?”

  Crow’s still in his grubby jeans from work when he sits on the couch in what’s currently serving as our weekly meeting spot.

  My fucking garage.

  He drops one booted foot onto the coffee table I picked up from the side of the road a few weeks ago. It’s sturdy and already well-loved so the guys can do their worst to it and I won’t give a shit.

  Unlike what’s inside my house.

  “You know damn well I have beer.” I point to the second-hand fridge tucked into the corner beside my washer and dryer. “Stocked it up last night.”

  I was wound tight last night after Shelly tipped everything I pretended to believe on its side. It took a trip to the liquor store and an hour beating the shit out of my punching bag to take the edge off.

  That woman might be more than I can handle.

  Which is fucking fantastic news considering I’ve been working hard to convince myself I’m bad for her. After what happened last night I’m thinking she might be bad for me.

  Real bad.

  “Are you fucking smiling?” Crow squints at me as he works his way off the couch Jill gave us to use out here. It’s the newest piece of furniture in the room where we hold our weekly meetings and everyone treats it nice because it came from her.

  A tolerable reminder of where we all came from to keep us grounded.

  I press my lips together. I wasn’t smiling. Couldn’t have been. Would have felt the fucking foreign sensation on my mouth.

  Tracker walks in through the side door with Butch right behind him. His eyes land on where Crow is digging through the fridge. “Grab two more.”

  He and Butch settle into two of the chairs shoved into a semi circle on the other side of the couch. The chairs belong to me, Tracker, Butch, and Gypsy. Everyone else is stuck with the couch and the floor. We’re the oldest and in this group age rules the roost. Mostly because we’ve already done most of the stupid shit they want to do and know it’s all a bad fucking idea.

  Like hunting down the rest of The Knights, the ones who would still be under King’s rule if he was a free man, and making sure they know not to fuck with us.

  It’s a bad idea. I know it, Butch and Tracker know it, and Gypsy knows it. But the rest of the guys still want vengeance for what they think King stole from them.

  Only King’s unreachable right now, and will be for the foreseeable future.

  Hopefully all of it.

  So that leaves their blame to rest square on anyone who supports him.

  But King didn’t take anything from them they wouldn’t have lost anyway. They’ll see that eventually. We’ve just got to keep them occupied until then. Make sure they don’t have enough free time to go around pissing off people who already have their dicks in a kink because one of ours is who put their president in prison.

  Crow hands Butch and Tracker their beers before sitting down on the couch and downing half of his.

  I let him swallow it before I start asking questions. “How’s work going?”

  He shrugs. “It’s work.”

  Butch hooked him up with a job as a plumber’s assistant. His boss is an ex-club-member and an ex-felon who got out and went straight. Hopefully he can help Crow see the benefits of doing the same.

  I’m not so sure though. The kid has rage in his eyes. An anger that I’m not sure any amount of time will calm.

  “You like Joe?” Butch crosses one leg over the other, settling back into his chair.

  Crow shrugs. “He’s fine.”

  The room falls silent for a minute. Tracker, Butch and I usually go over shit before the rest of the guys get here, but Crow showed up early and he’s still on a need-to-know basis.

  As in he doesn’t need to know.

  Tracker lets out a long breath and turns my way. “You been busy at work?”

  It seems like small talk but it’s not. Not in this group. Work is something most of these guys are unfamiliar with.

  Real work anyway.

  At a real job. With a real boss.

  We’re all in a whole different world now, trying to figure shit out and it’s not fucking easy. Luckily, King was a selfish motherfucker and had us all trained to do anything and everything he could ever need for as close to free as it got. That meant most of us came out of The Knights with a skill we could turn into employment.

  Most. Not all.

  “Work’s good. Busy as fuck. I can hardly keep up.” I might be the best off of all of us. King sent me to learn how to weld over a decade ago and I’ve been doing it in almost every capacity ever since. You name it, I can fucking weld it.

  And I do it well. Because King wouldn’t accept anything less. If I laid a shit weld I got my ass beat.

  So I didn’t.

  “Busy’s good.” Butch tips his beer around the garage we meet in as he shoots me a grin. “Somebody’s gotta pay for this shit.”

  The first thing I did when the clubhouse burnt down was buy a house.

  A home. One that no one could take from me.

  My list for what I want in life is short.

  There’s two fucking things on it.

  One of them I have.

  And the other I can get whenever I want it.

  I’ve just been particular about where I get it lately.

  The door to the garage opens and Gypsy walks in with the rest of the men who were smart enough to recognize what King was.

  There’s ten of us. Ten men who were trapped in a life they knew was fucking wrong and thought they’d never get out of it.

  But here we are.

  Because Kerri has bigger balls than all of us combined. Took out everything holding us back in one fell swoop.

  I wait while everyone gets their drinks and finds a seat. We have a lot to discuss tonight and I’m ready to get started. I have to work in the morning and five comes real damn early, especially after the shitty sleep I had last night.

  Once everyone’s settled Tracker turns my way. “Want me to start?”

  I nod, keeping my eyes on the men around me. I’m sure they’re all on the same side of this shit that I am.

  But that doesn’t make me stupid enough not to watch their faces while Tracker tells them what we learned last week.

  “King’s got a plea on the table.” Tracker spits it out quick, and I’m glad to see I’m not the only one scanning the group. Butch’s gaze is sharp on the faces staring back from the couch. Some look surprised. Some look concerned. Some look angry.

  None of them look happy. And that’s all I care about. They can be surprised. I was.

  They can be worried. I am.

  And they sure as hell can be pissed.

  “How the fuck is that possible?” Crow’s eyes are narrow as he scoots to the edge of the couch. “He was supposed to fucking rot in there.”

  Tracker blows out a breath. “That’s not how this works and you know it.” His gaze slides to me before moving back to Crow. “Not unless he takes people down with him.”

  It’s the truth none of us wants to admit. The only way for King to go down how we want him to is for the state to have more against him. The only way to do that is to admit they have something against us too, then let them use it as leverage against us.

  And none of us is going to do that. Not if I have anything to say about it. That’s why tonight’s meeting is more important than most that have come before it. I need to make these men understand that once again they have to settle for something that’s not fucking fair.

  And they’re not going to take it well.

  Already aren’t. Crow is on his feet, one hand clenched into a fist and the other pointing at nothing in particular as he rants about the fucking system and all i
t’s done to screw him.

  “Stop.” I say it loud enough that he knows I mean it. The years he spent under King’s rule make his response immediate. His mouth clamps shut but I can see the rage crawling under his skin. I’m not trying to control him like King did, none of us are, and he needs to know that. I stand up. “It fucking sucks. I know that.” I rest one hand on his shoulder. “But you can’t let King control you anymore, and if you go out and do something stupid that’s exactly what you’ll be doing.”

  He barely relaxes so I keep going. “Don’t let King fucking win.”

  It takes Crow forever to suck in the deep breath that I know means he is finally reining in the anger he’s only just beginning to learn to control. It’s why Tracker, Butch, Gypsy and I do this. We know these men need it. A place where they can learn how to be a part of the society they feel failed them.

  And they’re right.

  But they don’t have to fail themselves. I want to give them a chance at a real life. One they control. One they can be proud of.

  One they can be happy in.

  It’s what I want for all of us.

  We spend the rest of the evening talking about work and women, carefully avoiding any more talk about King and what might happen.

  Because no matter what, King will go away for long enough he might not ever make it back out again. Even if he does, everything he had is gone. Wife, house, business, properties, everything. King is broke and homeless.

  Just like we all were when he found us. Preying on our vulnerability and anger. Twisting our fucked-up dreams into a weapon none of us saw coming.

  And now he has to pay for all of that. Maybe not as much as we all think he deserves, but King’s already paid with what he held most dear.

  Control.

  Power.

  Dominance.

  It’s all gone.

  By ten everyone seems to be in a good place, ready to start a week of work and responsibility. Two things most people dread.

  Not me.

  I love every fucking minute of it.

  And so do most of the men in the room. I hope Tracker, Butch, Gypsy and I had something to do with that.

  The four of us stay after everyone else leaves, finishing off our beers and bagging up the empty pizza boxes from our group dinner before wiping everything down so it will be ready for next week. If I can be grateful for anything King did, it would be the neatness he ingrained in each of us. We all like things tidy and clean.

  When we’re done we sit in our chairs. Gypsy leans back in his seat, looking more relaxed than I know he is. “You think they’re going to go light on him?”

  I blow out a breath and admit the truth I’ve been avoiding. “Maybe. His lawyer’s pushing hard.”

  “That’s what I don’t fucking get? How the hell is King affording that guy?” Tracker’s tension is more obvious as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Jill owned everything. All the money. All the properties. The businesses. Every bit of it. He made sure nothing tied to him in case this ever happened.” He goes silent.

  We all do.

  Because it can only mean one thing.

  King’s not as destitute as we all thought. Hoped.

  He’s either got money no one knows about, or someone is bankrolling his legal team. Either way it’s not a good thing.

  Butch stretches his long legs out in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. “Wind might be able to find something out.”

  We look at each other.

  Asking any of these men to go back to what they were under King’s rule is a slippery slope we agreed not to go near. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Gypsy held up one finger. “Now hold on.” He pointed the finger my way. “If you knew you could do it, would you?”

  I don’t like where he’s going with this. “I’m different.”

  Gypsy shrugs. “Maybe, but I bet Wind would argue different.”

  “I think we should do everything we can to keep track of King.” Butch scratches at the beginnings of a beard covering his cheek. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Isn’t that the whole fuckin’ reason we are where we are?” I’m getting pissed now. These guys need us to help them navigate a world they’re only just beginning to understand, not shove them back where they were. “I won’t use them like King did.”

  “Not using them if they want to do it.” Tracker stares at the worn coffee table a second longer. “I think we need to tell them everything we suspect and let them decide where they stand on it.” He faces me. “It’s only fair.”

  Fairness isn’t something I’ve had much of in my life. So little that I’m sure it’s not even a real thing. Nothing is fair. Not life.

  Not death.

  “Think on it this week.” Tracker shifts up in his seat, his eyes still trained on me. “Let’s talk about something else.” His lips barely twitch. “How ‘bout that party last night?”

  Gypsy isn’t as careful with his expression. He leans forward, grinning at me. “Yeah. How ‘bout it?”

  I knew this was coming. No way were these assholes going to let me off. “What about it?”

  “When you gonna tell her no one hates her?”

  I shrug. “Haven’t decided.”

  Tracker points at me. “You’ve gotta tell her, man. Before she hurts somebody.”

  “Mostly you.” Gypsy’s still grinning, obviously enjoying the situation I’ve found myself in. It’s one I’m not real sure how to handle.

  Even less sure after last night.

  I’m familiar with good girls wanting to sample the dark side. Had a few in my lifetime. Showed them just how dark my side can be.

  But Shelly’s different.

  I tried to convince myself she was a real good girl. One not so interested in a man like me.

  “She might key your fuckin’ car man.” Butch lifts his brows. “That one’s got a crazy streak.”

  And there it was.

  The reason I’m not having as easy of a time knowing what to do about Shelly. “Don’t call her crazy.”

  “Didn’t call her crazy. Said she had a crazy streak.” He looks at me pointedly. “Two completely different things.”

  That was for fucking sure and it was messing with my mind.

  A good girl with a crazy streak is the best of both worlds in my book. Sweet but passionate. Smart with a temper. Has her shit together but also knows how to have fuckin’ fun.

  Could that be Shelly?

  Based on the bruise in the middle of my chest that woman definitely has a temper, and from those few minutes I had her to myself in the kitchen I can guess she’s not lacking in the passion department.

  “You’ve gotta do something. At least let the guys talk to her.”

  I glare at Butch. He knows damn well if I hadn’t warned the rest of the club off Shelly every one of them would be trying to get between her long, long legs right now. Chasing Kerri’s best friend around like dogs in heat and I’d have to beat the shit out of every last one of them.

  Because no one was chasing Shelly but me.

  Except now I know she might not run if I chase her. Because for some reason the woman isn’t scared of me. Not even a little bit. Never has been. Maybe that’s why I can’t shake her off.

  Every woman I’ve met is a little scared of me. Hell, that’s usually half the reason most of them are attracted to me. They think I’m dangerous and they’re not wrong.

  I’ve done things most people would be horrified to even think about, let alone do.

  That’s why I’d decided to leave Shelly be.

  One of the reasons.

  She doesn’t need a man like me dirtying up her perfect life.

  And I would sure as fuck dirty that woman up.

  I’m still thinking I should leave her alone. It would sure as hell be easier for me. A woman like that is more than most men can handle.

  Most men.

  But I could.

  And that’s what makes m
e reconsider. Think about changing my mind about the hellion who’s never balked at taking me on or taking me down.

  I can take whatever crazy streak she has to dish out.

  But I need to know she can handle what I am. What I carry.

  And stay within the limits I put on things like this.

  That’s what’s still holding me back.

  I’m not sure I can keep Shelly where she belongs.

  3

  I CAN DO this.

  I am a badass.

  In training.

  I blow out a breath and start walking toward the entrance of the large, squarish building in front of me. When I yank open the glass door the man at the desk smiles at me.

  He looks promising.

  Dark hair cut tight enough at the sides I can see the tattoos covering his scalp. A full sleeve of similarly-colored designs peeks out the arm of his tight black t-shirt. He’s handsome in an unconventional way.

  And looks like he might be just what I’m looking for.

  “You must be Shelly.”

  Well look at that. Mr. Potential is looking for me back.

  I saunter to the counter and hold out my hand, giving him my best smile. “I am.”

  He takes my hand and holds it a little longer than necessary, shoving my hopes a little higher. “I’m Roland.”

  Oh. Well.

  I keep smiling. Not everyone can have a great name. Not his fault his parents obviously hated their baby.

  Maybe it was his grandpa’s name.

  I try not to cringe at the idea of trying to say a name like Roland while a guy with an old man name fucks me.

  Luckily Roland saves me from myself. “You ready to get started, Shelly?”

  I swallow as a fresh wave of nerves washes over me.

  Which is stupid.

  It’s not like I’m going to kill anyone. That’s the whole point of this actually.

  To be a badass with a clue. Crazy with care.

  That could be my own personal slogan actually.

  “I am very ready.”