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CHAPTER THREE

HENDRIX

I t was past midnight by the time Dad and I pulled up outside the clubhouse slash hotel. Along the journey, Picasso caught up and rode in with us as we headed back.

Cass was one of my closest boys. He was a tattoo artist and a damned fine one at that, hence his road name. The man could turn the cheesiest and most cliché tattoo ideas into works of art. He adapted to all styles, too. His portraits were like looking at actual snapshots, and his watercolors were so bright and realistic that they almost came to life on the skin.

He was also a fucking Ninja. I’d never seen anybody fight like Cass. He was quiet and brooding while also being easygoing and popular with men and women. However, as some men learned to their detriment, if you got on his wrong side, he’d rip your goddamned throat out, and I didn’t mean metaphorically.

Picasso wasn’t an officer purely because I’d already selected my crew before he joined, but he ran the tattoo shop we owned, and he ran it well. Cass was smart and watchful. He had a sixth sense like I’d never seen before, probably because of the year he spent ‘finding himself’ on a mountain in Tibet with a group of monks who taught him about meditation, chakras, and Reiki.

Many of my men experienced shit in the military that screwed with our heads. We fought and fucked the trauma out of us in order to cope, whereas Cass had learned to deal with his demons in a much more spiritual way.

Picasso parked up and switched his engine off, then, like something out of a Hollywood movie, he took his brain bucket off and hung it from his handlebars before flipping his long, dark hair upside down and shoving it into a messy man bun with one of the black hair ties he had permanently banded over his wrist.

“Fuckin’ pretty boys,” Dad muttered as we dismounted.

I looked down at my boots and grinned.

Cass was a good-looking guy, but I wouldn’t call him pretty. He was covered head to toe in tattoos and his stubble was a week past groomed. He was lean and muscled, his core strength coming from Martial Arts. Still, he was prettier than my pop, so there was that.

“You wanna get a beer?” Cass called over, jerking his chin toward the clubhouse as he swung from his bike. “I know how wired you get.”

Dad smirked and called over, “He already fucked it out of his system.”

Picasso cocked an eyebrow. “Daisy will be disappointed. She’s always talking about how much she likes how you get after a fight.”

A weird feeling clenched through my gut. “What the fuck’s she been sayin’ now?”

Cass shrugged uncaringly, “She’s always boasting about fucking the prez on the regular.”

“No shit she fucks the prez,” I retorted. “Daisy fucks everyone. She’s a club whore.”

“You fuckin’ any of the other girls?” Cass demanded.

“No,” I responded. “But I see women from town and the tourists. Daisy’s a regular of mine, but she’s hardly my ol’ lady.”

“Been tellin’ you a while she’s getting too big for her britches,” Dad muttered. “You need to cut her loose.”

My fingers scratched at the underside of my beard.

Maybe Pop was right. The last thing I needed was a club girl getting territorial. We’d had nothing but shit in Wyoming with the crazy ones who got ideas they had no business getting. First, with April, who caused a lotta strife between the now Prez, Cash, and his ol’ lady, and later tried to pin a pregnancy on Cash’s brother. Then Cherry, who took on a couple of the wives and got her ass kicked outta the club for overstepping.

Club girls were just like everyone else; you got good and bad, but in my experience, if you gave some of them an inch, they took a mile, and okay, so I’d given Daisy a good eight inches, but it didn’t mean I was gonna wife her up.

The sounds of bellows mixed with low, thumping music floated from the hotel. An almighty crash reverberated through the air, and my head whipped around just in time to see the hotel’s double doors fly open and Iceman stomp out, dragging a disheveled-looking Fletch across the ground while half the club followed behind.

“What’s that fucker done now?” Dad demanded under his breath before stalking toward the two men.

“Fuck knows. But it’s not like Ice to lose his shit. Fletch must’ve excelled himself this time...” The door flew open again, and my voice trailed off as I watched Ice’s girlfriend, Marney, come running out of the clubhouse, her clothes just as disheveled as Fletch’s.

“Shit,” I breathed, taking in the way she was straightening herself up like she’d gotten dressed in a hurry. My heart began to sink because if this scene was what I thought it was, the incoming drama would likely put the Wyoming chapter’s Days of our Biker Lives daytime soap opera shit to shame.

My lips thinned as I watched Iceman throw a very drunk Fletcher to the ground. Looming over him, he bellowed, “You touched my woman!”

I sucked air in through my nose.

Jesus Christ.

Fletch, still lying on his back, laughed out loud. “She touched me first.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

“Fuck,” I muttered, scraping a hand down my face.

“You should’ve come to me !” Ice bellowed, his face turning purple with rage. “Your loyalties should lie with me !”

Fletch knifed up to a sitting position. “And what about her loyalties?” he challenged, throwing a hand out toward Marney before drawling, “Bro, I did you a favor.”

Ice’s woman opened her mouth to protest but quickly clamped it shut again when Iceman’s furious stare landed on her.

Ice snorted. “Nah. You just wanted to get your dick wet with another bitch who’s not your wife. You’re a fuckin’ disgrace.” His eyes lifted to Marney, and he spat, “Get the fuck out.”

“But Jacob—” she wailed pleadingly.

Iceman slashed a hand through the air, cutting her off. “You made your choice. Go.”

“He forced me,” she protested, glaring down at Fletcher, whose neck twisted toward her, his expression turning incredulous.

“I’d believe that if I hadn’t stood outside his room listening to you beg him to fuck you harder,” Ice threw back. “He may be a joke of a human being, but you weren’t fighting him off. If you had, he’d be dead now.”

“Bitch was desperate for it,” Fletch muttered from the ground. “Been chancing her hand for weeks.”

“And you just had to give her what she wanted, huh?” Ice demanded. “Fuck brotherhood and fuck loyalty. It’s all about you and gettin’ your dick serviced.”

Fletch clumsily maneuvered to his feet, dusting himself down as he stood to his full height. “Can get my dick serviced anytime I want. Did you a favor. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been some other fucker she tried her shit with. Saw you getting serious about her, so I gave her what she’d been tryin’ for since the first day you brought her around. Couldn’t let you take a chance on a bitch who doesn’t deserve it.”

I caught Dad’s knowing glance at the same time as mutters of agreement rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

Fletch had gone about it completely wrong, but in his own fucked-up way, he thought he was looking out for Iceman. It was crazy, but maybe there was some weird-assed logic in there somewhere if you looked hard enough.

Many of us had noticed Marney trying to get friendly with a few of the brothers whenever Ice’s back was turned. We’d tried to warn him, but he waved it off by saying she was a friendly chick and she just wanted to make a good impression on the club. However, if the gleam in her eye while she flirted with the men was anything to go by, she was after a lot more than friendship.

I got what Fletcher was saying; I just couldn’t get on board with how he’d gone about proving his point. Add on the fact he was married with kids, and I could’ve fucking throttled the asshole. More drama was the last thing I needed after the scene back at the warehouse, but I held the gavel, so it was my responsibility to get these fuckers back on the right footing.

My head swiveled toward Marney. “You heard the man, sweetheart. It’s time for you to go.”

Her eyes narrowed spitefully. “Why won’t anybody believe Fletch forced me into that room?”

“He may be an asshole of the highest order,” I replied. “But Ice heard you begging to get fucked harder, so it kinda proves you’re a lying bitch.” My eyes swept across her spiteful, almost bored expression and haughty stance.

She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a shake of my head. “If you wanna insist there’s been a sexual assault against you, I can go in and pull the camera footage.”

Her face paled. “Camera footage?”

I jerked a nod. “Yep. There’s surveillance covering every inch of the place, babe.” I didn’t tell her the bedrooms weren’t under surveillance. I wanted her to believe we had her every move recorded. “Now decide. You want me to call the cops so you can make a formal complaint, or are you gonna turn around and get the fuck off my property?”

It must’ve been a no-brainer for her because, within seconds, she turned and began to stomp toward the gates.

“Bitch,” Dad spat under his breath.

I cringed slightly at his accusation, but what could I say? He wasn’t wrong. She would’ve happily thrown Fletcher under the bus to get her own way. Not for the first time, I thanked God I had the foresight to get the cameras installed as soon as I moved operations to Virginia. At the time, they had gotten me into some eyewatering debt, but they’d also helped the club out of more than one disastrous situation.

My stare fell on Ice, who was watching Marney leave with a thunderous expression plastered across his face, and his body locked so tight it seemed he’d shatter if you touched him.

My brother wasn’t of the blood variety, but he was the closest thing I had to family aside from Dad.

We’d met ten years before when we’d prospected together at the Wyoming chapter. We’d been thick as thieves since day one. I loved Ice; he was a cocky shit, but he was also a man with hidden depths and emotions he didn’t show just anyone. I was lucky to know him underneath all the bravado and understood a lot of what made him tick, especially since I had similar demons in my past, too.

I felt bad because he’d liked Marney. Was she the love of his life? No, but he’d opened up a little to her, and for Iceman, that was huge. It was typical that the one woman he’d taken a chance on had thrown it back in his face.

I moved in closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Jake?”

He startled as if coming out of a daze, nodding absentmindedly before looking around and bellowing, “Gopher!”

Our prospect came running over. “Yeah, Iceman?”

Jake jerked his chin in the direction Marney went. “Take an SUV, pick her up, and get her home safely. She may be a backstabbing cheat, but I don’t want a real rape and murder on my conscience.”

Gopher gave him a nod, then ran toward the garage where we housed our vehicles.

“I wouldn’t bother with the bitch—” Fletch began, then grunted in pain as Ice’s fist smashed into his nose. “Goddamnit,” he roared, his hands flying to his face. “What the fuck?”

Ice leaned toward him, his face twisting with rage. “You fucked my woman!”

Fletcher stared at him. “I did you a fucking favor.”

“Riiight,” Iceman drawled. “So, fucking my woman was doing me a favor? Were you doin’ your Frankie a favor while you were inside Marney, too?”

Fletch’s hands dropped to his side to reveal a bloody face, and he leaned into Iceman until they were nose to nose. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about my wife,” he snarled.

“Why?” Ice demanded through gritted teeth. “Somebody’s gotta remind you you’re married. It’s not like you give Frankie or your boys a passing thought when you’re here fucking the whores and the randoms.”

“Mind your fuckin’ business,” Fletch spat.

“You fucked my woman!” Ice roared. “What part of that isn’t my business?”

I saw it coming before it happened. Iceman pulled his head back, then smashed his skull into his brother’s face. I winced as what was left of Fletch’s nose exploded, and blood flew everywhere.

“Fuck,” I muttered, my feet automatically moving forward to stop what was about to happen, but I felt Dad grab my shoulder and pull me back.

“Let ‘em fight it out,” he advised quietly. “Regardless of his intentions, Fletch needs to learn about brotherhood, even if it’s the hard way, and Ice needs to take a stand. If they don’t deal now, their big-assed grudge will affect the entire club for weeks. At least this way, it’ll be done.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “But we’re also supposed to be a professional organization.” I gave Dad a tight grin and pushed his hand off before stalking over to the two men who’d already begun to circle each other. “Yo!” I shouted. “If you’re doin’ this, you’re doin’ it like civilized men. Get your asses down the ring.”

A collective whoop went up from the crowd.

Most of these fuckers were rabid for a fight. Initially, I thought it was boredom that drove them stir crazy, but then the security jobs began to flow in and they still caroused at every opportunity. It was then I realized it was something inside them. My boys needed to let off a lotta steam, probably as a result of their military careers. They needed action like they needed air to breathe, and they didn’t give a fuck where that action came from or what it consisted of.

I stretched my arm out and pointed toward the clubhouse. “Move it,” I bellowed, my tone brooking no argument.

A buzz rippled through the throng, and everybody turned and made their way toward the hotel. I tracked Fletcher’s every move as he fell into step with a few of his buddies.

Iceman shot me a smirk. “Is Bones in the house?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know, bro? I just got back from my own fight.”

His smirk widened to a grin. “Call him. Tell him to get his ass here if he’s not already holed up somewhere with a whore. Gonna fuck that little cunt up.”

My eyes held his. “Sorry about Marney, dude.”

Iceman shrugged. “More pissed at Fletch than her. I’ve come to expect it from the chicks who come around here, but a brother?” He shook his head frustratedly. “Why’s he constantly fuckin’ around on his wife? She’s pretty, not a bitch, and she’s a great mom. Someone needs to tell her what a dog she’s married to.”

I sighed and nodded. “I know. Hate seein’ a brother do this to her, himself, and those boys, but some of these men have demons I can’t vanquish, Ice. Maybe somethin’ inside him needs somethin’ she can’t give him.”

“So he needs to end his marriage,” Ice retorted. “Plenty of dudes in this town, hell, in this club, who would love a shot with a woman like Frankie.” He smirked. “I know of one in particular.”

My head tipped back, and I sighed.

We’d all seen the way Picasso looked at Fletcher’s wife. They were good friends, and Cass spent more time with Fletcher’s sons than he did. Fletch hated it, but Picasso didn’t give a fuck. They held mutual dislike and a touch of jealousy for each other, which was a big part of the reason they butted heads.

“Could you imagine the dramatics that shit show would cause?” I muttered. “The club would split down the middle. It’d be a mess.”

“It would serve Fletch right,” Ice clipped. “While his eyes are wandering to everything in a skirt, someone else’s eyes are aimed at the one woman he should be taking care of but isn’t. Feels like karma to me, and I, for one, would not give Cass any shit if he went there.”

“You know the rules,” I reminded him. “We don’t touch each other’s women.”

He snorted. “So why the fuck is the asshole still here after touching mine?”

“Marney wasn’t your ol’ lady.”

“Nope,” Ice agreed, popping the P as he spoke. His voice reverted back to his natural Southern drawl as he added, “But he still went to a place where no brother should go, which means imma fuck that boy up.”

I couldn’t help grinning at my bud. “Don’t hurt him too bad.”

Ice chuckled. “A couple of days in bed will do him some good. He can rest and relax, catch up on some reading.”

“Jake,” I said, warning in my tone. “We’ve got missions comin’ out of our assholes. I need all the men I can get, and whatever you think about Fletch, you gotta admit, he’s good at his job.”

“It’s the only reason I’m not gonna break his kneecaps,” Ice muttered, turning on his heel.

“Have fun,” I called after him, shaking my head.

Ice turned to face me, walking backward. “You not comin’ to watch?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll give him an extra junk punch just for you.”

A grin flashed across my face. “Nah. I need a beer and to get my head straight from my own fight. I got my brain rattled a couple’a times.”

Ice gave me a loose one-finger salute before turning back around and disappearing into the clubhouse.

Still smiling, I followed my brother’s steps, making my way toward the beautiful art deco-style hotel that we now used as our headquarters and clubhouse.

My Aunt Ellen, God rest her soul, left the place to my dad—her brother—when she passed away a few years ago. Our family was from Fredericksburg, that was where my dad and Ellen were raised. Pop went into the military at eighteen, and Ellen met her husband and moved to Arrowhead Point to help run his family hotel, The Lincoln.

They weren’t blessed with children, so when Ellen passed away, there was nobody to leave the hotel to other than me and Pop. The place was run down, so with the blessing of my old mentor, John Stone, we repurposed it into our new clubhouse and HQ and opened a new chapter of the Speed Demons MC along with a new security firm, SDSS, Speed Demons Security Services.

Moving away from Wyoming wasn’t planned. My dad had been sick and needed an operation on his heart, so I came back to care for him and was persuaded to make the move home permanent. He sold his old house, and we moved in here, using the money he made on the sale of his place to refurbish The Lincoln and turn it into something special.

I was VP of the Wyoming chapter, but I always knew the presidency would eventually go to John Stone’s son, Cash. I would’ve stayed Veep forever if I hadn’t made the move here.

Leading came naturally to me. I’d been the one in charge for most of my life and the thought of Cash Stone giving me orders wasn’t something I relished. For my own sanity, I started the new chapter and pulled in an old friend of mine from the military to be my VP. Then shit happened, and he left under a cloud, taking all the contracts I’d worked to secure along with half my men, and started up a new security firm in direct competition with us.

Approaching The Lincoln, I looked up at the building, admiring its grand stature and the beauty in the art deco architecture that always took my breath away. The hotel was a special place, and I never took for granted how lucky we were to have it.

The huge communal rooms on the ground floor consisted of a ballroom, which we’d turned into our club’s bar. We also had a comms room, a meeting room for Church, and a large kitchen with a utility at the back of it, which led to a garden. There was a gym in the basement along with a small indoor pool we used for hydrotherapy for the men like our VP, Blade, who had to manage war injuries and benefitted from utilizing the water for rehabilitation and pain relief.

The Lincoln’s upper floors provided close to one hundred rooms over five stories, which housed most of the men. We even had some left over for the club to grow into as more members joined us, though some of the guys who had families opted to live offsite and closer to town where they could access the stores and schools.

Stepping over the threshold, my eyes were automatically pulled toward the polished dark wood of the reception desk, situated next to the wide sweeping staircase that led to the first floor. Every time I entered The Lincoln, it was like being transported back a hundred years. I could almost hear the jazz in the air, along with the clink of glasses and the buzz of carefree laughter that I imagined filled the lobby back during the sultry, hedonistic nights of the roaring twenties.

Time may have dulled the richness of the furnishings, and the years may have brought changes to the décor, but the very fabric of the hotel’s history enveloped me, filling my soul with a sense of responsibility to act as caretaker of my own little slice of the past.

I’d never had much and had never owned anything of significance or value. My early years were spent in the military, where my life was transient at best, and then later at the Speed Demons’ clubhouse, where I didn’t have the space for much. All I owned was my clothes, my bike, and, of course, my old pickup truck, but even that was a hand-me-down from my grandpa.

I was into restoration in a big way and loved to breathe life back into old things. What others saw as junk, I saw as treasure, which was just as well, seeing as I lived in a hundred-year-old hotel that always needed something fixing up.

Turning left, I automatically headed for the ballroom with the intent of checking in and grabbing a beer before heading to bed. Usually, after a fight, I was wired, but something in the air was seeping inside my bones and making me weary, and my bed seemed to be calling.

Immediately, I caught a pair of smiling, sparkling blue eyes, and I raised my hand in a greeting, which was reciprocated by a welcoming smile and nod.

Ciara was our resident bartender slash ballbuster. Two days after Dad and I arrived, she’d turned up and told us we were gonna give her a job, and weirdly, her easy confidence and air of capability had me agreeing with her on the spot.

She was a good-looking woman in her fifties who took everyone under her wing but still had no problem grabbing the scruff of a man’s shirt and banging his head off the bar if he needed some sense knocking into him. Her ability to kick ass, paired with the Glock 43X that she kept behind the counter, made her a force to be reckoned with.

She was perfect for this place. The men treated her like their momma, confidante, and conscience, and they respected the shit out of her.

“Hey, handsome,” she called over. “I hear you’re still undefeated.” She grabbed a cold one from the fridge, popped the top off it, and placed it on the bar in front of my usual seat.

I walked over and slid onto the stool, immediately propping my head in one hand while I picked up my beer with the other. Taking a long pull, I placed the bottle back onto the countertop. “It wasn’t exactly a challenge. They never are.”

“Heard Larry tried to screw you over again.”

“Word travels fast.” I shook my head. “So much for club business.”

She shrugged. “Fletch was full of it.”

“He’s full of it alright,” I muttered.

Her smile faded, and a look of concern fell over her expression. “You okay, honey? You seem, well... off.”

My stare hit my bottle. “I’m feelin’ it tonight. Larry sent a redhead in to put me off my game. Succeeded for a while. Luckily, Dad was there to cover my ass.”

Ciara cocked an eyebrow. “Did you take the warehouse like you planned?”

I held her stare. “Jesus, is nothin’ sacred around here?”

“You know I’m a vault, Jameson. See, hear, and speak no evil.” She pulled an imaginary zipper across her red lips.

“Just as well. My men get chatty when they’re full of beer and cheer. Need to sort that shit, it’s not acceptable.” I took another swig of beer, glancing around the room as I tipped the bottle against my lips. The place was usually packed on a Saturday night, but there couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the bar, and half of them were club girls. “Where is everyone?”

“Most of them went downstairs to watch Ice and Fletcher fight,” she explained, leaning against the bar. “It’s been a slow night, and a few of the boys were getting antsy. Iceman losing his shit with Fletcher got them all wide awake and perky again.”

My mouth thinned slightly. “Fletcher’s worrying me. I know he loves Frankie and the boys. When she finds out what he’s doin’, she’ll leave him, and he’ll fall apart.”

“He deserves it,” Ciara replied firmly. “It kills me not being able to tell her. I’m all about the sisterhood. Frankie needs somebody to look out for her, seeing as her shithead of a husband is determined to fuck her over.”

I scraped a hand down my face. “I know, but when we took you on we were clear?—”

“I get it.” She waved her hand casually at me. “What happens in-house stays in-house. Fletch should be grateful that I respect you enough to keep my mouth shut, but mark my words; cheaters always get caught. He’s gonna lose that girl, and there won’t be a damned thing he can do about it.”

Ciara was right. I’d seen this shit before. Cash Stone had a blip back in the day, and he lost his ol’ lady for years. Along the way, other brothers had fucked up, and it never turned out well for them either. The Speed Demons as an organization didn’t condone that bullshit, and on a personal level, neither did I.

But all I could do was try to pull Fletcher out of his downward spiral. Whether he allowed it or not remained to be seen. The fact was, I was his prez, not his keeper or his mother. At some point, he had to take responsibility for his own fuck ups.

“By the way, Daisy’s been looking for you,” Ciara informed me knowingly.

My gut sank.

After what I discovered earlier, it was probably best that I put a pin in that whole situation. I should’ve known being with Daisy on the regular would give her ideas, but she was the only redhead in the place, and subsequently, the only one I could pretend was Anna.

These days, I couldn’t get off unless I imagined it was my ex I was inside, and if I didn’t get off, I couldn’t sleep unless I hit the bottle or smoked enough weed to sink a battleship. Both made my brain foggy the next day, and in my line of work, I had to be alert and ready to jump into action.

I lifted my beer to my mouth again and drained the last of it, then muttered, “That’s my cue to get my ass to bed.” Placing the empty bottle back on the bar, I slid from my stool. “You on tomorrow night?”

Ciara grinned. “I’m on every night. Got nothin’ else to do, and anyway, somebody has to keep you boys in line.”

With a chuckle, I headed for the lobby, throwing back, “What would we do without you, sweetheart?”

“Place would turn to shit,” she declared.

“Make sure you get one of the boys to see you home after your shift,” I ordered.

“Will do, handsome,” she called out. “Sweet dreams.”

Her words followed me as I walked past reception and started up the staircase. I had a few flights to get up, but regardless, I always walked instead of taking the old-fashioned cage elevator. The journey up to my suite on the top floor gave me time to shed the skin of Prez and allow the man underneath to emerge again.

Sweet dreams didn’t come easy to me. They hadn’t since the day I left the military. The things I did and the things that were done to me haunted my mind. It was weird because when I was in active service, they didn’t. It was the day I left and became a civilian that my mind began to betray me.

The only time my mind calmed nowadays was when I was on a job or when I thought of Anna. My subconscious blocked everything out when I went back into soldier mode. Why my mind calmed around thoughts of Anna was harder to work out. Maybe it was simply a case of the person you were meant to be with having something inside them that chased away the demons. Perhaps that was why God made them your person in the first place.

Reaching the top of the hotel, I headed toward my suite, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. My hand reached for the lamp at my desk and I sank into the chair while pulling my cell phone from my pocket.

Swiping my fingertip across the screen, I did the same thing I did every night before I slept; I went to my camera roll and slowly swiped through the fourteen images contained there.

Everything I had left of her.

Long, silky red hair, the color of burnt copper, shone in the early morning light. Every time I’d wake, my fingers would automatically lift to run through those tresses, and I’d marvel at their satin-like smoothness. There wasn’t much in life I loved more than Anna’s hair; it was stunning. Laughing, tawny eyes flecked with green as bright as the finest jade gazed up at me, and I felt my heart contract painfully because I knew the light in those orbs shone on another man now, brightening his world the same way they used to brighten mine.

But what could I do?

The day Anna Bouchard left me, she took my peace of mind with her. She once said to me I’d regret pushing her away, and I knew even then she was right. But I had no idea how much the regret would eat away at me.

I was clueless to the fact that her tawny, hazel eyes would still gaze into mine every night, and the memory of her long, copper hair sweeping across my skin whenever she was close would torture my fucked-up soul.

And the saddest thing about it all was that I had nobody to blame but my own damned, stupid self.