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CHAPTER THREE

T he white lines on the highway had sped by in a hypnotic pattern on the five-hour ride up. Johnny Gun barely noticed. His thoughts had churned with ideas and a concrete plan: close proximity to Isolde at all times was the only foolproof way to protect her. For this strategy to work, he had to make sure Deacon didn’t notice him much or become suspicious of him. The interference of a jealous father, blind with possessiveness, could mess up his strategy or ruin it altogether.

In the end, he decided to keep the lowest profile possible. He entered the clubhouse behind his brothers. Hunching a bit—other than Tank, he was the tallest in the group—he stood at the rear of the group, listening to Deacon exchange a few welcoming words with Axel, their designated leader on this mission. The conversation started out well, but when Axel gave Deacon a quick rundown of Shifter’s findings, the man’s demeanor went from friendly to distraught.

Rubbing his palms, a frowning Deacon spoke to the guys. “Thanks again for coming. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be gone a moment. There’s something I have to take care of first. Hang out, make yourselves comfortable. When I get back, we’ll go over your living arrangements and discuss ways to defend the clubhouse. Everyone except you, Axel. Why don’t you come with me? You can get an idea of the interior setup and where things are.”

“Sure,” Axel replied.

As Deacon and Axel walked into the hallway, Johnny G studied the front room. A lot had changed since his last visit. It was neater, cleaner, and the messy poker table was gone. Someone had painted a remarkable gray-and-black mural on the cinder block wall, depicting a robed Grim Reaper with claws extended. The MC’s logo, the fanged skull biting handlebars with the identifying Devils’ Spawn rockers above and below, appeared at the top far corner. A second multicolored oversized painting that reached the end of the room depicted the profile of a topless woman riding a motorcycle.

“Impressive,” Bullet said, approaching the mural for a closer inspection.

“You ain’t kidding, bro,” Max commented, his attention fixed on a neon lager beer sign behind what looked like a bar area. “This is a hell of a fancy clubhouse.”

Two angled sofas, one fraying, showing some age, occupied the space where Johnny G had last seen the poker table. One sofa faced the mural; the other had its back turned to his brothers. A low-profile metal trunk with some rusty patches was situated between the sofas, serving as a coffee table.

Despite the seemingly large space, a claustrophobic sensation hit Johnny G. Had to be the absence of windows. Any illumination came from lights attached to ceiling fans.

“At least some air is moving,” he muttered to himself.

While Tank flopped down on a sofa, making himself right at home, Pilot stood close to Johnny Gun without saying a word .

“Something spooked the old man,” Tank commented. Crossing one leg over the other, he stretched his arms to span the backrest. “Did anyone notice?’

“The old man? Are we talking about Deacon?” Bullet asked, half laughing.

“Him. Yes,” Tank replied.

“Deacon ain’t old,” Johnny said, ambling toward Max and the bar area. “He’s in his early forties, and we can’t blame him for freaking out. We’d barely arrived and Axel hit him with both barrels about the Wolves’ interest in his daughter.”

“But it’s only chatter. You heard what Shifter said,” Tank added.

“I was there, dude,” Johnny G said. “It’s no big deal to us. Put yourself in the guy’s shoes. He knows his MC is under threat because of his fucked-up revenge move in Savannah. Then we come in, and the first thing out of Axel’s mouth is, ‘Oh, by the way, the Wolves want to hurt your daughter, not you.’ If I were Isolde’s father, I’d freak out too.”

“Who’s freaking out?”

The sound of boots and a hostile voice silenced the conversation. Johnny G remembered the unfriendly guy from the poker game. His dirty-blonde braids had grown longer and so had the mustache.

“I remember you.” The guy stared at him.

“And I you,” Johnny G said.

The biker moved farther into the room. “I’m Gomez.”

“I’m Johnny Gun, and these guys are my Garden City brothers. The big dude on the sofa is Tank, Bullet’s checking out the mural, and Max is at the bar. Next to me is Pilot, our prospect.” The guys waved and nodded as Johnny G named each one. “I think you might have already met Axel. He’s with Deacon.”

If Johnny G thought Gomez would acknowledge his brothers, he was wrong. Instead, the bad-mannered asshole walked toward the bar as he spoke. “Yeah. Saw him inside.”

Gomez passed Max, moved around a supported shelf that served as amakeshift counter in the bar area, and bent out of view. When he straightened, he held an open bottle of beer. Obviously, there was a fridge behind the shelf wall. He took a long swig.

Bullet sent Johnny G a meaningful glance. The guy’s behavior was overtly offensive. Didn’t matter if they belonged to the same chapter or not. To drink without offering was a breach of hospitality and an insult to his MC brothers.

But Max had a much shorter fuse than everyone else. He slapped the counter. “What the fuck is your problem, asshole? We’re MC brothers. How dare you drink without offering. I didn’t ride for hours to be insulted. I’m of a mind to leave your shithole club without any defenses.”

“Dude, do you always react this way?” Smiling, Gomez slowly lifted the arm he’d kept out of view, showing he held two bottles. “I had something stuck in my throat.” Gently, he put them down on the counter. “Here, this one’s for you.”

Tension crackled between Max and Gomez. The trap was now so obvious, Max’s face lost color in anger. If he didn’t blow up, it would be a miracle. Johnny G scowled, assessing Gomez’s smiling expression. The guy had balls of steel to rile up someone like Max, or maybe he was stupid enough to test the waters.

But for what reason?

In any case, a personality clash wasn’t a good way to start this association. For this mission to succeed, they all needed to be, if not on the same page, at least reading from the same book. It seemed Gomez—Johnny G’s instincts warned—didn’t want the southern guys meddling in his territory and was prepared to sabotage the agreement, Blade, Deacon, and, by default, Isolde be damned .

“I’ll have one of those.” Johnny G kept his tone cool to ease the tension. He grabbed the two bottles and offered one to his friend. “Take it. Beer’s nice and cold.”

Max accepted it with a low grumble. Returning his attention to Gomez, Johnny G arched an eyebrow. “So where are the other beers? You still have three thirsty brothers. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Gomez locked gazes with him in silent confrontation. An endless second passed before, a sneer on his lips, he brought out three more bottles. It seemed Gomez didn’t do well with commands. Johnny G realized he’d stepped over some unknown line when he pushed the man. The mistake had won him the dude’s dislike.

Whatever. Gomez could get as pissy as he liked. Johnny G rode up to protect Isolde, not to make best friends with the Dalton crew or socialize with anyone.

As soon as Gomez put the beers down on the counter, Johnny G beckoned with his head. “Yo…guys. Move your asses over here. I ain’t your delivery boy.”

Laughing, Tank stood. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Pilot and Bullet joined them just as Deacon and Axel entered the room. “Thanks, Gomez,” Deacon said, gesturing toward the beers. “I appreciate you taking care of the guys for me. It completely slipped my mind to offer them something to drink.”

Johnny G wanted to laugh, but, remembering his resolve to keep a low profile, he tamped down his sarcasm. “Don’t worry. Your man Gomez has done you right.”

“Great. We want you guys to be comfortable while you’re with us.” Deacon went behind the counter and pulled out two more bottles, then offered one to Axel. “You must be parched.”

Axel took the beer. His intuitive gaze darted from brother to brother. Yeah, he wasn’t as befuddled with worry as Deacon and easily read the lingering tension in the room. Instead of addressing it, he downed half the bottle.

“Hey, guys. You came.”

Everyone’s attention went to the man opening the front door. Johnny G also remembered the red-bandanna-wearing guy. Jax had given him a tough time on that first visit. His attitude today was the polar opposite. Jax was downright cheerful.

“Just in time, Jax,” Deacon said. “These are our southern Spawn brethren. Johnny Gun you’ve already met.”

“Sure, I remember,” Jax said, and Johnny G nodded.

As Deacon continued the introductions, Jax moved from one guy to the next, shaking hands.

“What do you need from me?” Jax asked at the end.

“A couple of beds,” Deacon replied. “Three guys can sleep here, and Axel already told me who he wants with him. Gomez will take one brother. Since you have more room, I need you to take the other two.”

“Absolutely.” Jax smiled at everyone. “Some months ago, my dad moved to a retirement home. His choice, mind you, not mine. Now I have two empty bedrooms. I started remodeling one room to be an office. I haven’t done much yet, and the bed is still there.”

“So, who’s going where?” Gomez asked Deacon, though his eyes bore into Johnny Gun.

“Axel, Max and Johnny Gun will stay with us,” Deacon explained. “I think Tank and Bullet can go with Jax and Pilot with you. He’s a quiet guy, Axel tells me. He won’t bother you much. Besides, he’ll be spending most of his time at the clubhouse.”

Gomez nodded. “I like the arrangement.” He glanced at Pilot. “You’ll have your own room. I make coffee black, I don’t cook, and I only keep beers in the fridge. If you want anything else, you’ll have to bring it.”

“Not a problem,” Pilot said. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

“That’s my job,” Gomez scoffed. “Help our guests.” He lifted his bottle in a kind of salute, then walked toward the sofa area, leaving the others behind. He sat and crossed his ankles on top of the chest.

“Ignore him,” Deacon whispered. “Sometimes he gets a bug up his ass, but he’s a solid guy.”

The way Johnny Gun saw it, the prez didn’t know Gomez so well.

Glancing at the sofa, Johnny G stared at the back of the guy’s head. He didn’t pick up a solid trait in the unfriendly biker, or any of that all-out loyalty to his MC that Deacon spoke about. Instead, self-centeredness mixed with narcissism was evident to him, but he wasn’t here to disabuse the MC’s prez of his opinion or enlighten him about his guy. Besides, with time spent in close quarters, Johnny G might get to know Gomez better and even change his mind about the testy biker…

Not likely.

Moments later, his thoughts changed when three new brothers walked in. One was Viper, the Dalton’s chapter vice prez. He’d heard lots of good things about the intense VP from Blade. The vice prez embodied the solid loyalty to his club missing in Gomez. Viper’s demeanor and sharp gaze went along with his reputation. Plus, the intricate sleeve of entwined king cobras tattooed on his right beefy arm underscored his name.

Once introductions were over, beers continued to flow, Jax cracked a few dumb jokes, and the tone of the conversation turned jovial and easy.

Johnny Gun had forgotten about Gomezwhen a good-looking lady with bright red hair he hadn’t yet met appeared in the hallway.

“Deacon, dinner is ready,” she announced.

“Thank you, Sydney,” Deacon responded. “Give us a moment. We’ll be right there.” With a quick nod, she moved back within the hallway shadows .

“I hope you like baked pasta,” Deacon said. “It’s a specialty of the house.”

“Food is food,” Tank said. “Let me tell you, I’m a pasta fiend. I hope she made extra.”

“No kidding.” Axel laughed. “Tank will eat enough for two or three people.”

“Nah,” Deacon said. “Sydney knows her stuff. She’s been involved with the MC for years and knows all about hungry guys. I’m sure she’s made plenty. Follow me.”

Sydney? A touch of intuition hit Johnny as he took his spot at the end of the group.

Something about the woman inspired trust. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but he was almost certain she could be an unexpected ally. Maybe help him find hideout locations if removing Isolde from the clubhouse became an absolute emergency.

He followed the group into the hallway, made it to the spot where, months ago, he almost ran over Isolde, and a vortex of memories, emotions, and remembered sensations pounced on him…

Time had him in its grip. Invisible ties bound his feet to the ground so he couldn’t move one step. Her scent, fresh and real, filled his nostrils. In a moment of desperate clarity, he understood why: Isolde must have just walked this way, and her unique perfume clung to the air.

As he glanced up, an endless corridor extended into a black void. A feeling of inescapable doom struck him, and a painful vise around his throat hampered his ability to speak.

“Dude. What are you doing? Keep up.”

Bullet’s voice snapped him out of the trance. Taking a deep breath, he caught up to the guys as Deacon led them into a spacious dining room.

With the exception of a long table, already set for twelve diners, the room didn’t have a single decoration. Not even a poster hung on a wall. Two oversized bowls filled with chips and pretzels and accompanying dip bowls sat at each end of the table.

Deacon stood at the head. “Sit anywhere you like. Sydney will serve in a moment. She put out the chips to munch on while the food comes.”

No one had to tell Tank twice. He parked next to one bowl, served himself a huge mound of chips on his salad plate, and proceeded to stuff his mouth.

Viper took the opposite end of the table, facing Deacon. The other guys scrambled around to find a seat. Johnny G made sure he sat mid-table between Jax and Pilot. He didn’t escape scrutiny, though. Gomez sat directly across from him, and Johnny G shuttered his expression. From now until the end of the dinner, he wouldn’t show a single reaction if Isolde came into the room.

If she even appeared.

All twelve places set at the table were taken. Meaning this was strictly an MC dinner. No one outside the crew was welcome. Sydney and Isolde would bring in their food and be gone just as quickly.

Johnny G stuffed a chip in his mouth, reminding himself to be patient. He was in a long game. Isolde lived on the premises. He’d see her soon enough.

A pretty young woman—she seemed a little younger than Isolde—entered the dining room holding two salad bowls. She had light brown hairanda sexy, curvy figure. He admired her lovely hazel eyes when she placed the bowls on the table.

A friend of the family, maybe? Then it came to him, the story about Warden’s daughter. Deacon and his wife, Elaine, had brought the orphaned child to their home. Pity her parents weren’t alive to see the beauty she’d become.

However, Johnny G wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the girl. Axel followed her every move. Sensing Axel’s interest, she glanced briefly at him, and their eyes connected… Blushing, she walked out.

Oh, shit.

For everyone’s sake, Johnny G hoped this was a momentary thing and nothing more. Axel was a couple of years older than him, and going with the timeline he remembered, Warden’s daughter was younger than Isolde. Deacon would flip if he found out an attraction existed between Isolde and Johnny Gun. But anything between Warden’s daughter and Axel would give Deacon a heart attack. Once dinner was over, Johnny G would pull his friend aside and warn him to be careful. They had enough problems already.

“Here’s dressing for your salad.” Sydney walked into the room and put an assortment of salad dressings on the table.

Isolde followed her in, her stunning green eyes lowered.

Despite his effort to remain cool and distant, Johnny G almost dropped his fork. The woman he adored floated in on a cloud of light, or so it seemed to him. He swallowed as she placed bowls of grated cheese around the table. Her slender hands performing the simple activity riveted him to his seat.

“Get started on your salad, boys. Pasta’s coming soon.” Sydney diligently situated the bottles of dressing and cheese bowls on the table. But Isolde didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Her job finished, she walked out.

Seeing her leave twisted his stomach into knots. He stabbed a lettuce leaf from his plate, glanced up, and met Gomez’s narrowed eyes. Holding the biker’s stare, Johnny G stuffed the leaf into his mouth and smirked. He’d never cower in front of this asshole. Any shyness, weakness, or hesitation would raise Gomez’s alert level, and Johnny G never conceded a position of advantage.

As he chewed, he pondered. Did Gomez have a thing for Isolde? Not impossible. She was breathtaking. If so, that could be an unwelcome complication.

The answer came almost right away. Isolde and Sydney returned to the room. This time, they brought two plastic buckets full of beers for the crew. They dropped one at each end of the table and left.

Fussing with another leaf of lettuce, Johnny G watched Gomez’s behavior from beneath lowered eyelids. The blatant leer the biker gave Isolde made his skin crawl. Red-hot fury flamed in his chest. He could throw his fork at the guy or tear Gomez to tiny pieces with his bare hands and laugh as he stomped on what was left of the man. The urge to scramble over the table and squeeze the guy’s throat until he stopped breathing was irresistible.

How dare he look at his woman that way?

The bigger problem was the attitude of ownership.

This asshole believed Isolde was his.

Digging his fingernails into his palms under the table, Johnny released a slow and shuddering breath to restrain the impulse to kill. At least Gomez, totally wrapped up in Isolde’s presence, hadn’t noticed Johnny G’s anger.

This gave him a measure of relief. But when he brought his beer up to drink, he caught Axel’s warning expression. Bullet, sitting next to Axel, expressed a similar emotion. His brothers knew him from way back and were no fools. Obviously, they’d picked up on his actions when Blade had asked for volunteers. Johnny G’s immediate response had been a clear declaration of his emotional involvement with Deacon’s daughter.

Transparency was his enemy. Despite his best intentions, seeing Isolde had softened his resolve. Going forward, he had to be a rock, silent and faceless. He’d show nothing, not even to his own crew, while he kept his senses on full alert and stayed aware of the smallest and most unimportant details. Because sitting in front of him was his in-house adversary, hiding his agenda under the guise of nice guy. Johnny G wouldn’t be surprised if Gomez was the type to betray his mother just to achieve his objective. Isolde Lennox appeared to be his aim, and if Gomez got wind of Johnny G’s feelings for Isolde…

No.

Couldn’t happen.

Johnny put the fork down. Leaning back, he resolved to ignore the love of his life as he pretended to eat a meal he no longer wanted. When the aromatic food came to the table and Sydney plated servings of gooey, cheesy pasta for everyone, he stared at his for long minutes.

“Excuse me, Johnny Gun. Is something the matter?” Deacon asked.

He shook his head. “No, why?”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Deacon replied. “I know the girls worked hard on this.”

“Come on, Deacon, he’s from the south,” Gomez commented with his mouth full. “The girls’ effort don’t mean shit to him.”

Fucking asshole had to add his two cents and send one more challenge his way. But Johnny Gun had nowhere to go. He felt all eyes on him.

“Right. Everyone’s an expert on me. Everyone has an opinion. Even those who don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

He shrugged at Gomez. Inserting his fork through several tubes of pasta, he chewed on the tasty food, but the small amount was more than he could handle. Swallowing with difficulty, he spoke. “Deacon, my compliments to Sydney and your girls. This is delicious.” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“What? Where you going?” Deacon asked .

“Don’t know. For a ride.”

Deacon said, “But?—”

“Let him go,” Axel said with a nod. “He gets that way sometimes.”

Isolde’s voice rang out. “Don’t worry. We’ll save you a plate.”

“Yes.” Smiling, Sydney added, “Come straight to the kitchen. Eat when you come back.”

“Thanks, ladies. You’re very kind.” Tapping his forehead, he left the room in a hurry.