Huck Read online

  Careful.

  Not just about avoiding music videos with epilepsy warnings, but about who I associated with.

  I mean, I had enough issues without adding on an association with criminals.

  So I sat my ass down in my gaming chair. I reached for my headphones. I announced that I was going to go live while I played.

  I didn't do live videos often since it was impossible to monitor the creeps, but sometimes I needed real-time connections with other human beings, even if I had never—and would never—meet them face-to-face.

  "I know, I'm a wreck tonight, guys," I told the people trickling into the chat. "I had a seizure and nearly drowned in a pool. Everything is cool now. I just need to play for a bit before turning in."

  A bit turned into four hours. It wasn't until my eyes were so swollen from exhaustion that I was forced to call it a night. Well, an early morning.

  I didn't need to keep any certain schedule, so I figured I could crash for a solid couple of hours if the dreams stayed away. That would allow me to get the recovery my body and mind needed from such a crazy day.

  I would have gotten that rest, too, had my doorbell not started ringing incessantly just a couple hours after I finally passed out.

  "Ugh," I grumbled, sliding off the bed, tossing my wild hair out of my face as I tried to remember if I had a delivery scheduled. "I'm coming," I roared at the door, small-eyeing it as I got closer, as I reached to undo the locks. "Keep your panties on," I demanded, pulling open the door.

  "Well," Huck said, looking somehow fully rested even though he couldn't have gotten much more sleep than I had, "I seem to have your panties right here," he told me, lips twitching as he produced the pair I'd been wearing the night before—which were, thankfully, halfway cute. If a hot man was going to wave around a pair of your panties, you didn't want it to be your old granny ones. Or the ones with holes or weak elastic that you kept meaning to toss, but never got around to.

  "What are you doing here?" I grumbled, not being much of a morning person. When I did manage to catch some sleep my body might have needed it, but my mind struggled to adjust to being awake again, making me slow and grumpy for at least an hour after getting up.

  "You're pleasant in the morning, huh?" he asked, giving me that infuriatingly charming smile of his.

  "You woke me up," I accused.

  "It's one in the afternoon, babe."

  "Oh, gee, sorry, I didn't realize outlaw bikers were the early bird sort," I said, turning to walk away, making my way toward the kitchen, going right for the coffee pot. I considered just heating the old pot from the night before, but decided to be a halfway decent host and make a new one, so I could offer a cup to Huck. "What?" I snapped when I found him staring at me, seeming like he was trying to hold in a smile.

  "Babe, you're a fucking wreck," he declared, chuckling.

  "Gee. Thanks. What do you want?"

  To that, I got another laugh. "I was bringing you back your clothes, babe. Remy cleaned and dried them for you."

  "Oh, ah, thanks. I will get yours back to you. You know... when I'm done with them," I added, waving down at my borrowed outfit. I didn't exactly know why I hadn't already changed out of it.

  "Nah. Keep it," he said, shaking his head. "Wouldn't be able to wear any of it again without thinking about putting it on you."

  "You're not supposed to mention that," I told him, trying to make my voice disgruntled. You know, to make up for the fact that heat bloomed through my body at the mention of that particular memory.

  "No?" he asked, head ducking a bit as he moved closer, dropping my clean clothes on the counter. "Why not?" he went on, getting closer. "Can't stop thinking about my face just inches away from your pussy?" he asked, stopping when his toes touched me, towering over me.

  It was too early.

  I was under-caffeinated.

  I had no defenses against the sudden onslaught of desire through my body.

  "Was that why you were up so late?" he went on as my body started to hum at his proximity. "Couldn't stop imaging what it would have been like if I had just leaned forward a bit and run my tongue up your pussy?" he asked, looking down at me while my mouth opened and closed dumbly a few times, not willing to admit the truth, but also not finding the right words to lie with. "Hate to disappoint you, babe, but I can't eat you out this morning," he told me, cocky smirk tugging at his lips as he moved back a few steps.

  "I, ah, I don't want that," I told him, finding the words a lot more convincing on my tongue than in my head.

  Again, I got that arrogant chuckle. "Oh, babe, you sure as fuck do. You might not want to want it, but that is a different thing completely. But whatever you gotta tell yourself. I'd show you just how much of a lie that is if I didn't have shit to do. Which brings me to, yeah, that," he said when I heard the front door opening and closing, then footsteps leading down the hall toward the two of us. "Seeley is going to hang with you today."

  "I, ah, no offense," I said as Seeley moved into the opening to the kitchen, "but no the hell he's not."

  "It's not really up for debate," Huck said, shrugging, moving away like he intended to leave.

  "Get your giant ass back here," I demanded, making Huck turn back, brow raised. "You can't just leave your men here."

  "I can, actually," he countered.

  "Not without my permission," I clarified.

  "You know, I can. Even without your permission. I'd feel less bad about it if you just agreed though."

  "Yeah, well, tough shit. I don't agree."

  "Eh, well, I won't lose any sleep over it," he said, making his way toward the front door.

  "No no no. Get back here. And take Seeley with you. There's no reason for him to be here."

  "I want him here."

  "Well, I don't."

  "Yeah, so you said. Doesn't change shit. Drink your coffee. Perk up. Seeley," he called, waiting for the other man to move into his sightline. "I'll be in touch. Try not to get too close. I think she might bite."

  And with that, Huck was gone.

  And I had an armed biker guard.

  "I could overpower you, you know," I said, turning back to face him. "I know where your weak spot is right now."

  To that, Seeley's lips curved up. "Yep. There it is."

  "There what is?"

  "Why Huck seems to be puppy-dog-eyeing you," the kid said, shaking his head. "Aside from the obvious," he added, waving at me. "Look, just pretend I'm not here."

  "Why are you here?"

  To that, I got a snort. "You think you're in the dark? They don't tell me shit either. I'm just a prospect. Good for bike washing and errand running."

  "And bullet receiving," I supplied.

  "I hear chicks dig scars," he said, smirking. "They do. But why do you think Huck left you here then?"

  "Best guess? He's worried about the drive-by. And he knows you're a sitting duck here. With your car issue shit."

  My car issue shit.

  When put that way, it almost didn't sound like a completely irrational, crippling phobia I could never shake no matter how hard I tried.

  "Yeah, but how does it help if you're here?"

  "Fight it out. Get you out of Dodge. Whatever it takes."

  "Do you think they're coming back? The shooters," I asked.

  "Honestly, no. At least not anytime soon. It would be a suicide mission now that the club is aware of a new threat."

  "Does this happen a lot?" I asked. "New threats."

  "Depends on your definition of a lot. And sometimes, they're on the offensive. Huck doesn't like being on the defensive like this. But sometimes, shit happens."

  "How old are you?" I heard myself ask, shaking my head. His face said young, but he had that "seen it all" nonchalance when he talked that spoke of a lot more age and wisdom.

  "Nineteen. Twenty in a month."

  "And being a biker was your best career path?"

  "Think you underestimate what these guys make. And that's not to mention the
women. And then the action is fun."

  "Getting shot is fun."

  "It's a story," Seeley said, shrugging.

  "So, what are we supposed to do now?"

  "Go about your day. I'll just hang here," he said, motioning to the dining room table.

  Not having much of a choice, I did that.

  I went about my day.

  And, once I got comfortable with his presence, we fell into a rhythm, watching some shows, eating, just vegging out.

  Nothing to report.

  Until, of course, we heard someone outside.

  Chapter Six

  Huck

  I chose to ignore the sideways looks from my men after I insisted on leaving Seeley with Harmon for the day while we went out to hunt down who might have been driving around in a white sedan with a plate with the letter X in it.

  True, Seeley technically belonged at the clubhouse. To keep an eye on things when we weren't around to do so ourselves.

  That said, Seeley could barely lift his arm high enough to get in the cutlery drawer, let alone raise a gun and shoot if that became necessary.

  He was safer over at Harmon's. And she was safer having someone around as well.

  I didn't think she was genuinely in trouble, or would be a target of any kind. Unless, of course, someone was watching a lot more closely than we realized, had seen her at the clubhouse, had seen me walk her home.

  It wasn't in my nature to be overprotective. Having my wild child little sister Gus had cured me of that many years before. There was no protecting someone like her. She refused to be kept under anyone's thumb. And while I tried to make sure none of the damage she caused or the trouble she got into was lasting, I knew better than to sic a guard on her, or try to be one myself. She did what she did. I cleaned up the messes if she couldn't do it herself.

  I'd always been very live and let live about everyone else's lives.

  Yet here I was, butting into Harmon's life when she'd made it clear she didn't want me—or Seeley —there.

  "Head in the game," McCoy reminded me as we climbed off our bikes.

  "It is," I assured him, even though it wasn't true. I rolled my neck, trying to clear my head.

  We'd made our way back to our old stomping ground—Miami—where we'd chopped cars for years before starting our new venture. It was where our connections were, where our competitors were most likely located.

  I figured, after our place in Miami got destroyed in our first real scuffle with the arms-dealing world, that I would miss the place where we'd all met, where we'd built our friendship, then, later, our business.

  And while it was nice to be closer to the bars, the clubs, the beach, we'd been putting down roots in our new town. Besides, a house party was better than trying to figure out how to get all our drunk asses back home.

  Still, it was nostalgic to be back, to walk down the streets that were so familiar, brush shoulders with strangers as we ducked down a side street in the iffy part of town, back behind an Indian restaurant, in a shack of an apartment that would fit inside my master bedroom, looking for an old friend.

  "Jesus," he hissed as he came in the main part of his apartment from the bathroom, eyes wide, his wavy hair a mess, flat across the top of his head from his headphones.

  Arty was six-two and a hundred pounds soaking wet, surviving off of coffee and energy drinks, often too obsessive about his work to remember to eat. From the looks of things—his cheekbones sunken, his wrists looking downright breakable—he'd been working even harder than usual.

  If the fuck would eat something, maybe hit the gym once in a blue moon, he'd be drowning in pussy. As it was, I don't think I'd ever seen him with a chick.

  "You guys are here," he said, slow blinking at us.

  "When the fuck are you going to upgrade this place? You can afford something bigger."

  Hell, just from the jobs I paid him for, he could be somewhere less pathetic, and I was far from his only client.

  "It's comfortable here. And they give me leftovers," he added, nodding his head toward the wall where the restaurant was situated.

  "That you don't seem to eat," Che commented, shaking his head.

  "Do you have another job? You've been busy," Arty said, walking over to his desk—a fucking fold-up card table—where he kept a state-of-the-art computer set up with multiple monitors and several fans going to make sure nothing overheated.

  "We had a drive-by last night," I told him, watching as he looked over, gaze roaming over us, counting us. "Teddy?" he asked, eyes going a little wide.

  "Teddy's fine. Back at his penthouse sipping Dom out of some chicks navel," I said, shrugging. "Seeley took a bullet, but he's fine. But we don't have much to go on for the car that did it."

  "Not much to go on. That's what I specialize in," Arty said, nodding. "What do you have?" he asked. "That's it?" he said a moment later, leaning back in his chair that groaned as he moved.

  "That's it. Seeley was the only one awake."

  "And I am guessing you never put that security system up that Booker has been telling you to," he said, tssking his tongue.

  It was no secret in our circle of misfits that Arty had a hetero crush on Ayanna's man, Booker. So anything that Booker said was practically the fucking word of God in Arty's mind.

  "Haven't been able to find a time that works for us and Booker's team. So, here we are," I said, shrugging. "You got time for us?"

  "Always," he agreed, nodding. "I owe you."

  "You don't owe me shit," I told him, like I'd been telling him since he was a kid in the gutter that I literally stumbled over on my way home from a bar one night.

  He acted like I'd become a father figure to him. I'd taken him home, cleaned him up, and pretty much pawned him off on my sister to deal with. Sure, I'd been the one to buy him his equipment, to force myself to let him work some jobs for me to make some ends meet, so he could get his life going, but he'd more than paid back the favor a dozen times over the years.

  "Anyone you want me to check into first?" Arty asked, reaching for a notepad.

  "I guess the Chechens. This doesn't seem like their style, but they're the most recent beef we've had."

  "Alright. That's it?"

  "I mean, we're making moves, Art," I said, shrugging. "Half of the crews in the state want to take us out."

  "Okay. I will see what I can do. Which direction did they leave from your place—back this way, or deeper into the swamps?"

  "This way."

  "Good. might be able to pick them up on a traffic cam. Then I can get the plate and go from there."

  "We appreciate it. We are going to do some footwork around here for the day, so if you come across anything, call me."

  "Will do. How's the new place?"

  "It's nice. You should come see it sometime," I suggested, glancing around his apartment, knowing he almost never left the walls, save to go buy more coffee and cans of energy drinks in bulk.

  "Yeah, yeah. When business calms down," Arty agreed, which I knew was code for never.

  "Alright. It was nice seeing you, man," I said, clamping a hand on his shoulder before leading the crew out.

  "That man needs to get laid," Remy decided, sighing, as we moved out onto the street.

  "Hey, his hermit ways work in our favor," I defended, even if a large part of me agreed. "If anyone can find out who it was, he can. We can't just sit and wait for them to strike again. We might not get that lucky a second time. Alright. Teams of two. Hit up our contacts, see if anyone has been talking."

  With that, we split up, digging up old friends, and old competitors who were happy to talk now that we were out of the chopping business, and they got all the good cars for a change.

  But with so little to go on, when we all gathered for lunch, we came back empty-handed.

  "Maybe that's Arty," I said, reaching for my ringing phone with one hand as I brought a slice of pizza up to my mouth with the other. But it was an unfamiliar number on my phone. "Yeah?" I asked.
<
br />   "Huck?" a low, whispered female voice asked.

  "Ah, yeah. Who's this?"

  "There was a noise outside," she said, and the pieces were clicking together. "Seeley went out to look into it, and I haven't heard from him in like ten minutes."

  "Lock yourself in a room. I'm on my way," I said, dropping the pizza, rushing out before even telling the guys what was going on.

  I'd always been calm in the face of chaos. It was one of the reasons I'd been successful in my previous career, why I was able to keep a group of often hot-headed men under control while we fought and shot our way to the top.

  I wasn't sure I truly understood what panic felt like.

  But as I ran down the street, not even pausing to apologize as I rammed through a group of tourists, one of them slamming back into a building, my heart was hammering in my chest, my mind was racing in a dozen different directions.

  Like where the fuck was Seeley?

  Was he okay?

  How long would it take me to get back to Golden Glades if I pushed my bike as hard as it would go?

  Could I cut the time in half? A third?

  Did Harmon think to grab something to defend herself with, in case Seeley was out of commission, and someone decided to try to breach?

  If some bastard had something out for us, would they take it out on her?

  I was vaguely aware of the other bikes rumbling to life behind me as I shot off, my jaw clenched so tight that the pain shot up to my temples.

  I answered one of my questions when I got back to Golden Glades in half the usual time, nearly missing the fucking turn off to Harmon's driveway, I was so amped up.

  Cutting the engine, I ripped off my helmet, reached for my gun, and ran around the house, looking for Seeley.

  "Harmon!" I called, slamming my fist on the front door. "Harmon! Open the fuck up!" I demanded again, taking a step back, ready to kick the door in when it suddenly flew open, revealing a wide-eyed Harmon with a frying pan in one hand and an impressive-looking knife in the other.

  "Is he here? Is he okay?" she asked, trying to rush outside to look around.

  My hand landed on her shoulder, shoving her back inside, pushing her against the wall as Che came to a stop in the drive. McCoy and Remy were near our driveway still.