Snake (Twisted Devils MC Book 6) Read online

  “Sounds like I better stock up on surgical thread and morphine,” Stitch mutters as we open the doors to the clubhouse and we guide the still-woozy Goldie inside.

  I catch one look at Stone’s face — he’s on the phone with whoever set off this whole clusterfuck of a situation — and he looks as lethally pissed as I’ve ever seen him.

  “I don’t think you need that, Stitch. I think you better make sure you’ve got a shovel, cause Stone looks ready to bury whoever the fuck it is that threatened us.”

  “They went after Trish and Addie, what do you expect?”

  I grunt. There’s nothing Stone wouldn’t do for his wife and daughter.

  “Hey, Stitch, I didn’t see you there,” Goldie says, shaking his head and staring with glossy eyes as we guide him toward the nearest chair. “You think you could get me a beer? I’m fucking thirsty, man.”

  “Sorry, prospect. And I’ve been here the whole time. You’re going to be having memory issues for a while,” Stitch says. “And no drinking for the next few days. Alcohol worsens the effects of any traumatic brain injury and, kid, you ain’t got much to begin with, so you need to fight like hell to keep what you got.”

  “That sucks, man,” Goldie says. “First, I get blown up, and now I can’t even drink? What about light beer? That shit’s practically water.”

  “It’s your brain. If you want to be a moron and fuck it up, that’s on you,” Stitch says, his words sharp. Looking at him, I can tell he’s already counting the cost in blood that the club will have to pay to get rid of whoever set that bomb.

  Then, as my eyes further scan the clubhouse, they land on Adella. She’s behind the bar, standing next to her mother, with tears in the corner of her eyes.

  Before I know it, I’m leaving Goldie in a booth and storming across the floor to her.

  “Are you OK?” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intend and making her jump

  She calms after a second and smiles at me.

  “I am. It was just scary. These two guys had guns, my mom had her shotgun out, and it just felt like, if I said or did the wrong thing, we were all going to die.”

  I reach across the bar, take her hand in mine.

  “You’re safe now. Can you tell me what these guys looked like? What they told you?”

  She inhales and exhales, pursing her plump lips as she does.

  Being this close to her, touching her, is enough to make adrenaline and urges of a whole different kind pulse through my body. I want to pull her close, quiet her nerves by kissing her until the only thing she can think about is whether she wants to ride me, or whether she’s got the patience to let me take my time and taste her sweet young pussy before I fuck her senseless.

  “They looked… rough. One of them had a Marine Corps tattoo, and the other looked like someone shaved a silverback gorilla and gave it a bunch of cheap ink. The skinny one wasn’t huge, but he was creepy. Like, when he looked at me, it felt like he was thinking what I’d look like if he peeled my skin away.”

  “That’s pretty fucking morbid.”

  “I have an active imagination, sometimes. Sorry.”

  “They say anything about who they were working for?”

  She shrugs, the motion making her tits strain against her flannel button-up. The sight is enough to make me bite my tongue to keep from moaning.

  “No. Well, they said that their uncle is the one who sent them. But they didn’t name him. Their names were Silas and Slade, though. And, again, creepy as hell. You’d know them the second you laid eyes on them.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about them any more. I promise. We’ll sort them out soon enough.”

  She gives me a grateful smile that makes my heart pound and twists my stomach in knots.

  If only she weren’t the president’s fucking daughter.

  If she were anyone else — anyone else at all — I’d have her in my lap and begging me to take her in back and bend her over.

  But Stone is on the warpath to protect his family and that’s a damn potent reminder that, no matter how tempting she is, I need to keep my hands off Adella.

  Behind me, Stone raises his voice, and it booms through the room like a bullhorn.

  “Church. Now.”

  Then he throws open the doors to the sanctuary, the heavy wood slamming against the wall with a concussive boom, and he storms inside, taking his place at the head of the table. Every patch-wearing brother follows without hesitation, and every prospect takes a seat outside, focusing their eager eyes on the door in anticipation of the violent news to come.

  I enter the club’s sanctuary, take my seat, and turn my attention to Stone.

  His face is red, craggy, angry, and his eyes burn with murder.

  “I won’t keep you here long. We’ve got too much shit going on to waste time mincing words. So, let me give it to you direct: I just got off the phone with the man behind the bombing and the threats to my wife and daughter. What he wants is simple and inexcusable: for us to kill the FBI agents, steal their files, their laptops, and bring them to him. We do that, and he’ll scurry away like the fucking cockroach that he is. We don’t, and he claims there’s more in store for us.”

  “Fucking Christ at a Tijuana donkey show, who the fuck is this man?” Mack blurts out.

  “We’ll get to that later; once Brewer, Mack, Crash, Stitch, and I have talked this whole thing over and determined the best way to kill this son of a bitch. When we’ve got that plan, we’ll bring it for a fucking vote and put it into action.”

  A chorus of agreement ripples through the room.

  Every single man here is eager to fight back against whatever man is foolish enough to think he can make demands of our MC.

  “But until our business with this deceitful, cocksucking son of a bitch is over, we’re going to make a few changes to our normal order around here. Because I can deal with threats against my club, but when a man threatens my family — my wife, my daughter — he’s crossing a line. I’m assigning a few of you to protective detail for the two of them. To watch over them, until I drag this bastard’s bloody body before you upon this table and beat the fucking life from him.”

  Stone’s words burn with menace, his eyes full of the rage only a husband and father can muster when his family’s life is on the line.

  I sit up.

  As does every other man in the room.

  “Razor, you’ll be watching over Tricia. You’ll be sleeping in our guest room tonight. Samantha’s welcome to move in too, or she can take up quarters here.”

  “Understood,” Razor says. Short, curt, eager. He’s always ready to charge into fire when the club is under threat.

  “And Snake, you’ll be watching Adella. Pack your bags, because you’ll be moving in to her apartment tonight. It’s small, it’ll be a tight fit, but her couch is new. I bought it for her just a few weeks ago. But don’t get too fucking comfortable, because if someone so much as even touches her, I want them dead. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer.

  I’m surprised I get the damn words out, my stomach drops so damn fast.

  How the hell am I going to resist Adella if I have to spend every moment around her?

  Will I even make it through the night?

  Chapter Five

  Adella

  “You’re moving in with me?”

  I’m stunned. Speechless. It’s such a sudden escalation that I’m too shocked to even enjoy it; I’ve always wanted to spend more time with Snake, always wanted to find out just what I need to do to see that smile he keeps hidden so well, but this is a little fast.

  Even if he is the only one in the club I’d want protecting me. The only one who not only makes me feel safe, but calm, happy, even though the world could be going to hell in a handbasket all around me; this still feels like I’m being kept in a cage.

  “Bodyguard. Your father’s on the warpath and he doesn’t want to take any chances.”

  He doesn’t look happy a
t all saying that, which puts a damper on the excitement that’s starting to bubble its way up inside me, subsuming the nervousness and shock.

  “What all is happening in there?” I say, nodding towards the closed doors where church is still taking place for a few of the higher-ranking members of the club.

  “Planning. This mess with the new unfriendly arrivals is coming at the worst time for the club. There’s a lot of stuff going on. And that’s as much as I can tell you.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Can tell me, or will tell me?”

  “You know how it is, Addie,” he says, giving a momentary glimpse of the easygoing smile that’s handsome enough to make my breath catch.

  This man. He could light the entire world with his smile, if he’d just use it more than once in a blue moon.

  Then, just as quick as his smile appears, it’s gone, replaced by a troubled look.

  “What’s wrong?” I say, reaching across the bar to take his hand. Something about touching him always makes me feel better, and I hope it does the same thing for him, too.

  He pulls away. Worried look still on his face and his eyes squarely on the closed doors to clubhouse sanctuary.

  “We should get going,” he says.

  “So soon? We haven’t even put dinner out. My mom spent all day cooking.”

  “Dinner’s canceled. Stone will be in there for a while, and it’s better for everyone if we get you home now.”

  “That’s how it’s going to be?”

  “That’s how it is.”

  “So, I’m just going to have you bossing me around for the next few days until the club murders those guys who came in here?”

  Snake shrugs, nonchalant.

  “Yeah. And the guy who sent them. Whoever he is, he’s living on borrowed time. But, if he was crafty enough to plant a bomb near the club’s warehouse and have it go off just far enough away so it only fucked Goldie up instead of killing him, he’s not someone you want to take chances with. Sorry, Addie, but life is going to be complicated for a while.”

  Suddenly, having Snake around loses a little of its luster. Just a little.

  “Hold on. There was a bomb?”

  “Car bomb. With a proximity trigger. Goldie stepped a little too close, and it went off,” Snake says, looking over his shoulder at Goldie, who’s halfway slumped over in a booth in the corner, with an untouched beer in front of him. “So, why don’t you take me home?”

  “In a second,” I say, surprised that I’d even hesitate at taking Snake home. What a state I’m in.

  But I have to check on Goldie.

  I can’t let him just sit there, hurt and suffering, without at least letting him know that I care.

  I walk around the bar counter and head over to Goldie’s booth and I sit down next to him.

  He looks so bad.

  Unsteady, bloody, and his eyes are out of focus.

  It makes my heart hurt just looking at him and knowing what he went through. And thinking about the days and days of pain he has ahead of him. Sometimes, so many times, it’s hard to see the cost that this life can take on the men in the club.

  I put my hand on Goldie’s hand.

  “Hey Goldie,” I say. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Addie,” he says, shaking his head in a lazy circle. “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be good in a few days.”

  “A scratch, huh? That’s funny, I heard you got blown up.”

  “Maybe I did. It’s kind of a blur,” he says, then he gives me a cross-eyed look. “Do you think I’ll have some cool scars? And do you think they’ll make me look tough enough that you’d want to hook up with me? Cause I have wanted to fuck you for so long, Addie, you have no idea.”

  I laugh, though in the corner of my eye I notice Snake clench his fists.

  “Goldie, bomb or no bomb, you’ll never have a chance. And I think I’m going to take this beer away from you. You don’t need any more brain damage.”

  I slide the glass away and he’s too worn out, or too dazed, to even try to stop me.

  Instead, he just shrugs and slumps back in the booth, looking half-asleep.

  I turn to Snake.

  “You sure he will be OK?”

  “Not if he keeps talking to you like that, he won’t,” he says.

  “He survived a car bomb, you can let it slide.”

  “Just this once.”

  I stand up and plant a playful kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you for protecting me from the brain-dead prospect. You truly are a wonderful bodyguard.”

  He takes my hand. His grip firmer, more insistent.

  “We need to leave. We’ll have to stop by my place so I can grab some things.”

  I let him lead me outside, where we head to our respective bikes, which happen to be parked next to each other. It doesn’t surprise me that his is right next to mine, that’s where he usually parks, even on days when there might be closer spots open.

  But, unlike so many other times where we’ve met in this parking lot, side by side, both ready to ride, something feels off with him. Something deeper than just the looming threat on the horizon. Even though I’m tempted to ask what’s bothering him, I can tell he’s in no mood to talk.

  So I keep my mouth shut, follow him on a long, circuitous course to his house; a winding route that’s meant to throw off anyone who might be tailing us, and I wait in his living room while he grabs a few things.

  Minutes later, we’re back on the road and taking another long route to my apartment.

  We park our bikes and head upstairs.

  Even though he’s frowning up a storm, I can’t help smiling as I open the door to my apartment for him. I moved in only a few months ago, and it was my first big step towards claiming my own identity away from the club.

  I still get a thrill every time I put the key in the lock and realize I’m about to be stepping in to my own place. A sanctuary from the rest of the world. A space that I control, where I can shut out the world or work on my photography to my heart’s content, without having to worry about enemies or threats to the club.

  At least, that’s how it used to be. Now, I’ve got a bodyguard — though a handsome one.

  “Here it is: home,” I say, opening the door.

  He enters, his only comment a grunt, and I feel my smile slipping.

  I follow him in, locking the door behind me, and I take his hand and give it a squeeze.

  “Would you like a tour?”

  “Sure, Addie.”

  I extend my arm and sweep it in a wide arc over my tiny living room.

  “This is my living room, and I’m sure you’ll find the couch is very comfy. I’ve slept there many times when I couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet to my bedroom. The TV gets every free channel available within a five mile radius, thanks to its broken antenna. I hope you like public access television and watching Jeopardy through a snowstorm of static.”

  “Sounds fucking luxurious. I’m not sure I can afford this place,” he says.

  There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but I want more, need more.

  I squeeze his hand again and lead him deeper into my tiny apartment.

  “The kitchen comes with a fridge that works sometimes. Except everything you put in the freezer will only get lukewarm, while everything in the vegetable compartment in the fridge will become a popsicle. The dishwasher works, but you need to kick it and say seven ‘Hail Mary’ prayers first. In Latin. If you say them in English or, heaven help you, Greek, it might start a fire.”

  “Sounds like some serious five star accommodations you got here, Addie.”

  His smile is a little larger, but I’m not done yet.

  “You think that’s great, let me show you the bathroom,” I say. I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom. It’s small. Not much bigger than a closet. The sink, shower, and toilet look almost like they’re stacked on top of each other like some kind of Escher drawing. “The shower works. And so does t
he drain. But not at the same time. And, if you flush the toilet, all the water in the apartment becomes the temperature of magma for about five minutes. So keep that in mind.”

  “How do you live here?” Snake says. “This place is more dangerous than some of the forward operating bases I was in in Afghanistan.”

  “Because it’s all mine. And I love it,” I say, smiling. I’m caught up in the enthusiasm of showing off my place which, as humble as it is, is still every bit mine. “Now, follow me, there’s one last room to show you.”

  Tightening my grip on his hand, I take him from the bathroom to the bedroom.

  “This is my bedroom,” I start. And I run my hand in a slow gesture that encompasses the entire tiny room. “That’s my desk. Come over here, let me show you something.”

  I don’t wait for him to respond, I’m so caught up in sharing my place with the man that I’ve had my eye on for years. The man who, even when I was younger than I’d like to admit, I thought about on lonely nights. He’s always been just out of reach, kept at a distance by my father and by how far apart we are in age.

  But now?

  Now he’s here with me, and I’m going to enjoy the moment.

  I lead him over to my work desk. It’s covered in photographs representing only a portion of the photography I’ve done, but it’s some of the stuff that I’m most proud of.

  Snake’s eyes widen as he gets a closer look at my work, and he even takes down a photograph. It’s a black and white portrait of my mom on her Harley, with some of Lone Mesa’s desert vista in the background. That one is one of my favorites; I caught the light at just the right moment, and there was this perfect gust of wind to ruffle my mom’s hair. She looks so beautiful.

  “These are really fucking good,” he says. “You took these?”

  I turn away for a moment to hide my smile. It’s big and dopey enough that I’d be embarrassed if he saw it.