Love Ties (4 page)

This time he followed her home.

Ever lived in a nice enough section of town that he wouldn’t worry about drive-by shootings. The knowledge eased him a little, but he still watched her close the door and listened for the lock to turn.

After, he sat on his bike, watching the neighborhood wake up. He also drank in everything from her license plate on her budget car to the house numbers.

Hell, she was a danger to his sanity. She felt too good in his arms to dream about letting her go. Today he’d buy her a helmet.

Birds flitted between tree branches, and down the street an engine turned over. Jamison glanced in that direction as a minivan backed out of a driveway. These were normal suburban folks, but Ever was a biker chick. How had she gotten here?

He started his bike. When he glanced at the house again, a curtain twitched aside—Ever making sure he left.

Guiding the bike away from the curb, he headed down the street. A police cruiser was backed into an empty lot, watching for speeding vehicles. He stuck his hand out the open window and gave Jamison a two-fingered salute.

Cops loved the Hell’s Sons for all they did in helping clean up their town. As a result, they had a good reputation with the locals as well.

Jamison palmed his cell and stabbed a button with his thumb. Bunky picked up on the first ring.

Jamison grinned. “Glad to hear someone is awake at the club.”

“We all scattered pretty quick after you left.”

“Good. I need Ace and a few of the guys to get the delivery van and meet me behind Callihan’s in half an hour.”

“Sure, boss.”

Jamison ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Then he held up his hand, where a slim gold band encircled his pinky. Ever’s ring. When he’d picked up his shirt off the floor, the ring had fallen from the folds.

She’d worn the band on her thumb, and it fit his fucking pinky. If that didn’t show how delicate she was compared to him, he didn’t know what did. She had been in this Life before. While she obviously was trying to disconnect herself from it, she wasn’t doing a very good job. Which meant she needed protection.

He navigated the streets, heading toward the meeting place. He’d promised Burns a shipment of alcohol, but they didn’t get it in conventional ways. The state took a chunk for taxes, but the Hell’s Sons weren’t onboard with that.

By the time he reached the meeting place, his guys were there. The white van didn’t stick out in this district filled with warehouses and delivery companies.

As he rumbled to a stop, Ace jumped out of the van, hand extended to draw Jamison into a hug. He embraced all three of his brothers—Ace, Robbie, and O’Dovey.

Robbie smacked a fist off the metal door of a building in a secret pattern. When Jimmy flung the cargo bay door upward, a grin was spread all over his brown face.

“Thanks for meeting us so early. You have our change?”

“As always, boss.” Jimmy patted one of the cardboard boxes filled with whiskey.

Jamison handed him the wad of cash, which he’d stuffed into a plain white envelope. Once the cash was in Jimmy’s hand, the guys started loading the van.

They’d obviously dragged themselves off the floor and into the van without cleaning up. O’Dovey still had the imprint of a zipper on his face—probably from Kayla’s pleather boots. And Robbie smelled like pussy.

Jamison leaned against the building with Jimmy, shooting the shit. When the guys finished, Robbie and O’Dovey saluted him and hopped into the van.

Ace came to embrace Jamison. “Need anything else, boss?”

He ran his thumb over the band around his pinky. “Hey, see you, Jimmy.” He gave him the chin-nod and pulled Ace toward the van. “I do need something. Something you’re going to keep to yourself. Understand?”

Ace’s eyes were clear with understanding. He might have poured half a fifth down his gullet last night, but he was sober now. “Yeah, man.”

He held up his pinky. “See that? I need intel on the girl it belongs to.”

“And that girl is the redhead you were with last night?”

“Yeah. She calls herself Ever. Don’t know a last name, but she’s been with a club before.”

Ace’s eyes sparked. “She’s a sweet butt?”

“No, she is not a sweet butt. Those girls are whores. Does Ever look like a whore to you?” He leaned over Ace.

“Not at all, man. Absolutely not.”

Jamison poked him in the chest, inches from the place where he’d taken a knife a few years ago. The skin there was twisted and puckered, but the knife had missed everything vital. “She’s off-limits.”

“Of course.”

“Glad you feel me. Get me a file on her.”

“I’ll do that. Any idea where to look?”

Jamison stared at him. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

Ace collected himself and wandered toward the driver’s door. “Yeah, and I’ll get on it right away.”

As Jamison strode toward his bike, he fingered the ring. A girl like Ever only came within touching distance once in a lifetime. If he didn’t find her at The Gearhead or her house tonight, he needed to know where to go looking. Because he wasn’t about to let her disappear.

As soon as Ever had left for Hell’s Gap, she’d stopped wearing the blouses, skirts, and heels of her paralegal career and donned some favorites. Her old wardrobe was a better fit for what she was about to do.

If she tried to walk into the Dark Raider’s club in a suit, the guys would sight their guns on her from a block away.

Once they saw her face and realized she wasn’t dead, they’d want to kill her anyway.

Still damp from her shower, she went into her closet and came out with a pair of cut-off shorts and a long tank top. The blood-orange color complemented her hair. The buttons went all the way down the front, but she left it open from the bellybutton down, letting the slit reveal the short shorts and her navel ring.

Barefoot, she puttered around the house while her hair air-dried. The humidity was hell on curls, and years of experience kept her from blow-drying. Living up north for the last five years had been a beauty shock as well as a culture shock.

She slathered sunblock over her face, neck, and arms and called it good. Today she didn’t plan to leave the house.

Especially to go to The Gearhead.

She spent the morning doing laundry and dishes. She ran a duster around the house. Then she settled down with a glass of cold sweet tea and her files.

The information she’d accumulated over the years working as a paralegal was substantial. At the time she’d decided to train to be a paralegal, she hadn’t thought about gathering more information on her mother’s death, or how the Dark Raiders had been connected with it.

A few months into her boring career, she’d spent some time searching the files of people she knew—a guy they called Bones because of the number he’d broken in their enemies, the Raiders’ prez, and even Stone.

Stone was up for parole soon. With luck, the court would deny it.

Her heart rate increased, and she tried to calm herself. Right now, she wasn’t on Raiders’ turf. They never came to Heller’s Gap. When she was ready, she’d head to their stomping ground, but she wasn’t in danger at the moment.

Ever sipped her tea and opened a file. Just seeing some of these names launched her into her panicked childhood. Her daddy had been the Raiders’ prez and her mother as sweet as pie. But they were both involved in some dark shit. Even as a little girl, Ever had realized that.

When the living room filled up with leather, her mother tucked her into bed and turned on the radio so she could listen to Pat Benatar and Springsteen. The voices of the song artists she loved never really drowned out those of the guys.

With a shake to clear her head, Ever trailed a finger over the name of her mother: Bobbi Peerson.

She’d had dark hair tumbling all the way to her ass, and guys loved her hair. Her father often started fights with her mom about it, because he said she used it to get the guys to side with her.

Ever pushed her own red mass of waves over her shoulder. Not that she knew anything about using her beauty to get what she wanted.

In the end, her mother had died, and Ever was only told she was gone. No whys or hows. Car accident, holdup? Police raid, drug deal? It could have been anything, but no one ever told her the truth.

That’s why Ever was here—to find out.

The things she’d learned from the case files made her suspect Bobbi Peerson had met with a violent end. The day her mother died was the beginning of Ever’s lifetime of fucked-up.

Her father left her in the care of the club. Whores and sweet butts, sometimes an old lady. Most of the time, the rough club guys looked after her. By twelve she’d seen too much, and the guys were making advances on her.

That’s when Stone stepped in. At fifteen, he was a much-older boy with fists like concrete. He’d saved her from rape more than once. She relied on Stone for protection, and over the years, becoming his lover was comfortable and right.

She closed the file and opened another on Stone. Her ex had been voted in as vice prez by the time he was twenty-two. He also had a line of heart tattoos running down his thigh, showing his number of kills. The hearts he’d stopped from beating.

Being raised into the club, she didn’t think much of him getting another heart tattoo. But when he started smacking her around and accusing her of sleeping with the brothers, she worried.

Even now, his possessiveness was a tight fist around her throat. She’d practically become a hermit to keep him happy, but he’d never stop suspecting her. Then one night the cops raided the club and arrested him.

Ever had walked out, gotten him to sign divorce papers, and never looked back. As good measure, she’d pushed her car into the river and left a few items of clothing to float on the surface. Her body was never found, and Stone had gone to jail thinking her dead.

If she hadn’t faked her death, she would still be his old lady, waiting for his prison release.

She fished in her purse and found a smoke and then lit it with a gold lighter. She didn’t smoke often, but old habits died hard. Just like she couldn’t totally kick the habit, she hadn’t been able to stay away from the bad boys.

Namely, Jamison.

She couldn’t only go on her knowledge of his skills in bed, but he didn’t seem the type to hurt a woman. Though Jamison possessed a lot of bad too. The dangerous glint in his eyes was one Ever knew too well.

No, she was done toying with Jamison Montgomery. She was here to uncover the mystery of her mother’s death. If her dumbass father hadn’t gotten himself shot by a drug dealer, she could have asked him all about it. Instead, she must go into the Raiders’ club to search for evidence. Perhaps a document that would point to her mother’s demise, though it seemed unlikely. She’d need the hard information from one of the members who remembered.

She’d find it one way or another. Deep down, she believed someone had taken out a hit on Bobbi Peerson.

•●•

On the way back to the club, Jamison detoured through the ’burbs. Ever’s house was still, the curtains drawn against the sunshine. He slowed but didn’t stop. He’d come get her later, but if he was going to do a repeat performance of their first two insane nights of sex, he required sleep.

The guys in the club were subdued after their hard night of partying. The sweet butts had cleared out, and only a few guys were awake, staring with bleary eyes at reruns on TV.

Ace stood behind the bar, pouring himself a drink from the keg. “Hey, boss.”

Jamison eyed his friend. Part of him wanted to ask Ace if he’d uncovered the info on Ever. But no, that was crazy shit. He was tired, and it could wait.

He tapped a fist off the smooth bar top. “Got a couple of those sleeping pills?”

“Just a minute.” Ace turned to the wooden wall above the bar and depressed the panel. It popped outward, revealing a stash of drugs. Prescription, and almost all illegally procured. But no street drugs. One thing the Hell’s Sons ensured was no drugs were dealt in Heller’s Gap.

Speedball was the preferred drug of the junkies, and Jamison and his guys had confiscated enough to kill the entire town. When it came to the drug trade, Jamison was the avenging angel of the Hell’s Sons. Their prez, Strother, backed him on all of it.