RIDE OR DIE (Black Thorns MC #5) Read online

  A giggle escapes me. It has Smiter grinning in response and he fondles my hair. “I love you, Hal.”

  “I love you too,” I say, reaching out and stroking his cheek, then trailing my fingers down his neck, tracing his eagle tattoo that extends down to his chest.

  He snatches my wrist before I dip beneath his sweater and make skin-to-skin contact with his ripped torso. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep that up and you’re gonna be starting something that you ain’t gonna be able to finish.”

  The other night we went at it too hard. It was building, but our rough sex that night pushed it over the edge and tapped me out, leaving me too sore to continue doing it like that for at least a couple of days.

  I ease my hand back and roll my eyes. “Not everything is sexually-charged, Smiter.”

  He gives me a look.

  “I’m serious. I just want to touch you sometimes without that being the endgame. Just intimately, lovingly, you know?”

  Right away, he tenses up, his whole demeanor shifting on a dime. “How many times I gotta tell you that all that crazy fucking is just me wanting to enjoy our vacation together, to enjoy each other? I’m all good, Hal. Everything’s fine.”

  I don’t believe him. I know him too well for that. There’s definitely something wrong. But he’s not ready to even admit it, let alone get to a headspace where we can discuss it and begin to try to work through it.

  So, I don’t rise to it directly. I state a fact instead, hoping it will spark a realization in him that he needs to at least acknowledge it. “We head back to our lives in a couple of days.”

  He just grunts, giving me absolutely nothing to work with.

  Then he changes the subject, commenting, “I didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

  More like he didn’t want me to be. He’s been waking up at the crack of dawn every day since we’ve been here to go for a long ride on his bike. Each time, he’s snuck back into our bed as though he never left. I’ve let it go, letting him believe I had no idea. I get that he needs to ride. It’s a big part of him. But this is more than that. The way he’s doing it, needing it every morning like clockwork just to be able to go about his day. It seems like it’s become a crutch.

  And so has this place.

  It’s not just the fact that he’s been fixing something or the other up since we’ve been here. That I get, because he hasn’t been here for a long time and certain things did need doing, such as fixing the fence and gate, re-staining the deck. It’s that it seems like he doesn’t actually want to leave.

  During this vacation, we’ve enjoyed one another and reconnected after the nightmare of the Frank Newman situation. It’s been amazing. But every vacation has its day and needs to come to an end. Or it should. Unfortunately, it’s become more than a little apparent that Smiter doesn’t seem to share that sentiment. He won’t talk about our real lives outside of this little bubble. He hasn’t even said a word about the club or any of his brothers. It’s like nothing else exists for him outside of this house.

  I shift my weight and eye him. “I figured it was time to start getting up early again and reacclimate to my former schedule.”

  Another grunt and a murmur, “Right, yeah.”

  He seems to drift off then, his mind going God only knows where. “Smiter?”

  His gaze snaps back to mine and he blinks hard and forces a smile. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “How was your ride?”

  He brightens a little at my question. “Real nice. Head-clearing, you know?”

  No, I don’t, because he’s not talking about it, not letting me in on whatever the hell it is that needs clearing from his head.

  “Yeah,” I say anyway.

  There’s no point pushing it right now. Smiter is a stubborn ass when he wants—or needs—to be. I could be overreacting and making too much of it. Maybe he’ll snap out of it the moment it’s time to head back to reality. I’ll play it safe for now and see how things pan out.

  I take the last sip from my coffee, then push out of my chair and take Smiter’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get some breakfast going.”

  “Sounds good,” he says, pulling me closer and wrapping his arm around me as we head back into the house.

  3

  ~Smiter~

  LIVINGSTONE HARDWARE.

  I eye the sign as I climb off my bike and make my way along Main Street in the small town of Faunton toward the store.

  I’ve made a ton of visits to the place in the time that me and Halle have been vacationing down in this neck of the woods. I’ve been fixing my house up. I don’t get up here much with my work with the club so there’s always a bunch of things to take care of and maintain.

  A few years back, before Ax became President, things was bad under Trig’s leadership. Dark and brutal. All the brothers were on edge. Nobody felt safe. So, I made a safe place, a safety net, or whatever. That’s all the house was ever supposed to be. A backup. A last resort. Temporary.

  Now, though, I’m thinking on making it a much greater part of my life.

  Besides, this town is nice, homely, and down-to-earth. And quiet. That’s become important to me, more than I ever thought it would be. Having a chill atmosphere. No drama. No violence. No life and death stakes ruling my life and ruining my every chance at having some real peace.

  I realize I’m rubbing the back of my neck red raw, all these thoughts stressing me out.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, catching myself and forcing my focus back to the task at hand, to what I need to pick up from the hardware store to get the current project done.

  These fixups I’m working on have helped to keep my mind busy and away from things I don’t wanna be thinking about, things I ain’t ready to sort through yet. I’m supposed to be on a break from all of it. Obsessing about it all the time ain’t keeping to that because it means I’m here in body, but my mind’s still back at the club. Nah, that’s bullshit and I ain’t gonna let it be.

  I’m just a few steps away from the store when somebody bursts through the exit, coming my way.

  They pull up short, just shy of smashing right into me. Some big guy about my size with slicked back dark hair, sporting designer jeans and a black bomber jacket.

  Instead of offering up an apology, he grinds out, “Move it.”

  It takes me a shitload of effort to tone down my reaction. I’ve reacted in such a way for a long time, it’s basically a part of me now, an instinct. We’re big on respect and treating people how you wanna be treated and all that. It means when somebody does something that don’t uphold that, it’s a massive deal. We don’t tolerate disrespect. It’s also a part of my job, making sure the club don’t get disrespected and dealing out punishment when people are ignorant enough to fly in the face of that.

  My first call here is to lay into the guy and teach him a lesson. But I manage to catch myself in time so I don’t go down that road. I ain’t with the club right now. Ain’t in club colors. I’m on vacation. Means I gotta handle things differently, more diplomatically.

  So, I grit my teeth and clench my fists as I let him go, and pull my focus back to what I’ve come down to the hardware store to get.

  I push through the doors, the old bell chiming and announcing my presence.

  I’ve come here close to a dozen times and my visits always play out the same way. The owner, Joe Livingstone, greets me with a lift of his chin and a bright smile.

  This is a far cry from that. It actually pulls me up short when I’m barely a step toward the counter.

  His shock of thick white hair is messed. His plaid shirt is rumpled like somebody’s grabbed it and tugged real roughly. Most telling of all is the fresh graze to the side of his right eye.

  It comes together pretty damn quick. Somebody’s roughed him up. Judging by the timing, it’s gotta be the asshole who crashed into me outside.

  I close the distance quick, coming up to him at the counter. I thumb the door. “That shithead who just left here do this to you?”

  He hesitates.

  “Joe,” I press.

  His voice is unsteady as he tells me, “He’s a debt collector.”

  “What debt was he here trying to collect? You own this place free and clear.”

  Yeah, we’ve had a ton of conversations with me being a regular. Not just during this vacation, but with me coming back every now and then in secret to check on the house.

  He looks real uncomfortable and hesitates for a bit, before admitting, “The store needed a few upgrades and new equipment to stay current so I had to refinance. Stellman was only too happy to help.”

  “Stellman? That’s the name of the guy who roughed you up?”

  He shakes his head. “Paul Stellman is the big boss. The other guy was just his muscle. One of the many.” Running his hand through his thinning hair, he blows out a heavy breath and tells me, “I was making the payments just fine. Never would’ve taken the money if I couldn’t swing it. But he wants double now.”

  I shake my head to myself. It’s the same old story you hear time and again. Those kind of guys get greedy. And they can. They got all the power in these kind of situations. They milk it for all it’s worth. Getting into bed with them never ends well. The people who get mixed up with them don’t got a lot of other options. They’re desperate and perfect prey for these Stellman types.

  But I ain’t somebody who takes things as they are.

  I bend it to my will if I need to.

  “Give me his details.”

  “What?”

  “Give me his details,” I repeat. “I’ll sort it.”

  I see a spark of hope in his eyes, along with surprise there too that there is a solution to the situation he’s caught up in. It’s sad that he’s just let himself accept there
ain’t no way out, that he’s just gotta suffer.

  There’s always a way.

  It just ain’t always obvious. Or easy.

  Too quickly, that spark eases off and he starts shaking his head at me. “No. I appreciate it, but it’s best just to leave it.”

  “I know guys like this. I’ve dealt with way too many over the years. None of them have won against me. I can help you, for real.”

  “I don’t want you taking that on.”

  “Ain’t no trouble.” Hell, stuff like this was a part of my day job for a long time.

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Sure.”

  He draws in a calming breath, then forces a smile as he turns all business, “So, what did you come in here for? What can I help you out with?”

  Even though I don’t like leaving things incomplete, I know that it can take regular people time to come around on these kinds of things. He don’t live in a dark and dirty world like I’m used to where the eruption of violence to force somebody’s will is just another day’s work.

  So, I let it go, going back to the simple customer-business owner dynamic he feels comfortable and safe with. “My back gate’s sagging real bad. Looking for something to help raise it up”

  He holds up his hand. “I have just what you need.” He comes out from around the counter and gestures for me to follow him.

  We head deeper into the store until he comes to a shelving area in the corner. He snatches a package off one of the hooks there and hands it to me.

  “Anti-sag gate kit. I get a lot of farmers from the area coming in here for these. They work wonders. Basically, there’s a connector that goes on the top corner of the gate and another you attach to the bottom opposite corner. You crank the turnbuckle and it pulls the sagging edge of the gate off the ground.”

  “Sweet. Appreciate it.”

  “Anytime,” he says, heading back toward the counter.

  As he gets back behind it and rings me up, he asks, “So, how did that pressure washer work out for you?”

  “Ace,” I tell him.

  The deck needed re-staining, so I had to clean the entire thing with a pressure washer first, then strip it down with a belt sander before applying the stain.

  “So, this is a longer stint than you’ve ever had here before. Is this a permanent thing?” Joe asks me, all curious.

  Jeez, what a question.

  Hell, it’s the question.

  The only answer I got right now is, “Maybe.”

  He finishes ringing me up and bags the kit and we say our goodbyes.

  Stepping out onto the street, I breathe in the fresh morning air, reveling in the quiet.

  The peace.

  Don’t see how I’m ever gonna get this feeling with the club.

  And that’s what I’ve been craving lately.

  More than even that, it’s what I need.

  I gotta be prepared to do whatever’s needed to achieve that.

  4

  ~Smiter~

  Major unease and unrest.

  A bunch of the boys are out front, some smoking, some pacing up and down wildly.

  All eyes go to me as soon as I step forward into their view.

  It’s then, for the first time in a long time, that I feel the weight of it.

  Being the guy they’re all looking to.

  Head of club security. This is on me. Not just this aftermath neither. Everything that went down in Reirdon Falls is on me. Those fuckers making it all the way up to the clubhouse unchecked. Blowing the gates and trying to take the compound. And, worst of all, them going after club family. The fact that they targeted the Prez’s baby girl is a major deal. I know it’s sent shockwaves through the entire club. How could it not? It’s because it means nobody is safe, if our enemy was able to get to the most protected person in the whole club.

  Jesus Christ.

  How the hell did this happen? So hard and fast. No goddamn warning.

  My eyes snap open.

  I come crashing back to reality, to the current reality anyway, because not long ago that nightmare was all too real.

  The thing’s on repeat.

  That brutal day that shook the club. That shook me.

  I never saw it coming. I wasn’t prepared.

  And it almost cost us everything.

  The boys all said it weren’t down to me, weren’t my fault, that nobody could’ve seen it.

  But I should’ve. It was my job, not nobody else’s.

  Frankie Newman was a long-time enemy of the club and to me personally. Re-emerging later on, he came at us for driving him to ground back then. He hit the club brutally and mercilessly, coming at us on home territory, territory I’m sworn to protect, that the club trusts me to protect. He tried to destroy all of us. If that weren’t bad enough, he went after Halle and almost killed her.

  He paid for all that with his life. He’s gone for good. But the scars of what he did haven’t healed.

  I can’t get it out of my head. The fear. The failure.

  When all that hell ended and he was finally put to ground, all I wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge. I thought time away would lift that heavy weight off my shoulders, that after a bit of a break I’d be back to normal.

  But that’s not happening. It’s not going away. Somehow, it just seems to be getting heavier.

  I don’t wanna go back.

  It ain’t just about losing my footing after that major security breach on my watch.

  It’s about the life, in general. Club life. Nah, Thorns life. Not all clubs have that attached to them and so much pain and danger coming at them all the goddamn time.

  But Thorns always will because of its roots, its screwed up legacy created by the likes of Trig and Dealer. No matter what Ax does, how hard he fights to clean it up and forge a legitimate path away from all the down ‘n’ dirty illegal stuff the club started off with, he won’t manage it. Not fully, anyway. That kind of legacy, all the blood, pain, darkness and death ain’t gonna wash away. It’s a stain that’s gonna be there forever on Thorns. On all of us.

  Fighting with no chance of a win is a brutal thing.

  Bitter.

  Hopeless.

  Exhausting.

  Whenever my mind strays to the club, that’s all I’m seeing now.

  I tried to clear all that away, to bury it, but it ain’t working. I’ve ridden like crazy, every day at the crack of dawn, because that’s my kind of therapy I turn to whenever things get heavy like this. But even my bike can’t fix this.

  I don’t know what the hell will. Don’t know if anything can.

  “Dammit,” I mutter under my breath. I eye the alarm clock Halle brought with her that she’s been using for the last two days to get herself back on schedule, ready to go home, and I see it’s three in the morning. Yeah, I wake her now and she’s gonna be pissed. She’s intense about getting her beauty sleep. Like that woman could look bad if she tried. She’s a masterpiece, my masterpiece.

  She changed everything for me, had me feeling things I never thought I’d be able to.

  Peace.

  Hope.

  Love.

  Us being together has opened up a bunch of possibilities, things that I didn’t let myself even think about before. I was just coasting along before, all about work and the club. I never let anything else in. I wasn’t really living, just existing. I was numb.

  Since, I opened up and let things in, let love in with Hal, I see things differently.

  I don’t want me bringing her into my world meaning nothing but brutality, pain, and fear.

  Taking this break made me realize that it doesn’t need to be like that. I got the power to change it. I can choose it, choose a better life, choose to be happy in the life I got with the woman I love by my side.

  Fixing up the house ain’t just been out of need, or avoidance. It’s me getting back to my roots, seeing if I still got the yen for it and the skills that go along with it.

  I worked construction for a few years before I joined the club. I was damn good at it and I had a small business doing jobs around and about Reirdon Falls. Now Ax has taken over Reirdon Construction, I was brought back into that world a bit. I just ignored how much it felt like home. My busy schedule with the club didn’t really give me the time. Basically singlehandedly maintaining security for the club and its holdings can do that.