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The mention of potentially implicating one of my sisters in Viper’s death knotted my stomach. “Of course, I’m going to tell Rage,” I snapped, zipping up the too-tight jacket he’d provided.
“Not sure that’s a smart idea,” he said, a bit under his breath.
“She’s my president. Don’t you expect your men to be loyal to you?” I challenged.
“Shouldn’t we find out more in case she’s involved?” he countered.
His suggestion that Rage could be involved in Viper’s death was a step too far. “If she is, I’m sure she had her reasons,” I returned, trying to keep my voice even. The very idea was preposterous, and loyalty to my club, to my president, ran deep.
“Don’t you want to know the truth?” he pressed, turning to face me finally.
“I’m a Heel first,” I told him, meeting his gaze squarely. The Heelz were my family, my loyalty to them unwavering, even in the face of uncomfortable truths.
Mounting his bike, I took the spot at the back, wrapping my arms around him out of necessity and desire I couldn’t dismiss. As we rode towards the hospital, the cool morning air did little to clear the turmoil of emotions swirling within me.
Riptide’s insistence on uncovering the truth, on questioning the loyalty and motivations of my president, had opened a rift between us, a reminder of the vastly different worlds we inhabited. And yet, despite my reservations, his words echoed in my mind. We were connected now, bound by a shared goal to unravel the mystery of Viper’s death and so much more. But where that connection would lead, and what sacrifices it would demand, remained to be seen.
As the hospital loomed ahead, I got sucked into wondering if the truth we sought would bring us closer or tear us further apart. For now, my allegiance to the Hell on Heelz remained my guiding star, my commitment to my club and my president unwavering.
But after the doctor cleared me, it was clear I was softening to Riptide’s demands. Given some painkillers, I was told not to be operating heavy machinery. I wondered if my Harley qualified as machinery. It was in a ditch on the highway, another problem for later.
“You’re coming back to my apartment,” Riptide said, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Chapter 9
Riptide
That ride to the hospital was a real head-spinner. All damn day, I’d been laying it out for Star, telling her I wanted her, but she was playing hard to get, not bending to my will. But I knew it was just a matter of time before I got what I was after.
With Brat holding onto me, riding bitch on my bike, it was like lightening between us, blurring the lines we’d drawn in the sand. Cruising through the early morning streets, her on my backseat hammered home our complicated dance. I was itching for her, but she was a Hell on Heelz, off-limits by my own damn rules. Yet here we were, tangled up in the same fight, the same secrets, getting caught in a snare that was getting tighter the more we wriggled.
Post-hospital, once the docs gave her the all-clear, the reality of our tightrope walk hit home. I laid it out straight, told her she was coming to my place, no arguments. We had to hash out the mess from the Serpent’s Tail.
She tried to backpedal.
“We need to straighten things out before you hit the Roost again,” I insisted.
Deep down, we both knew there wouldn’t be much talking. Holding back with her in my pad had been tough, not knowing if she was really hurt. But now, with her in the clear and pain managed, the gloves were coming off.
“I don’t think going to your place is smart,” she countered, her voice shaky, betraying her want.
I shrugged it off. “Fine, I’ll solo it then. I’ll piece together Cowgirl and Viper’s story myself. Just hope your so-called club’s as tough as they claim.”
That got her hackles up. “So-called club? We’ve got something you guys don’t,” she shot back, her defiance lighting a spark in me. The challenge was clear, and the biker in me was ready to take it head-on.
“What, tits?” I snapped.
“No, we got brains, not like you Slayers, all trigger-happy,” she jabbed.
I just crossed my arms, unimpressed. “From what I’ve seen, the Heelz are just playing up their pussies to keep the lights on.”
She bristled, her chin lifting defiantly. “You calling us whores?”
I wasn’t about to get caught in that snare. “You’re coming with me. You can be my whore.”
“I’m hitting your place just to grab my cut,” she snapped, her lips in a stubborn pout.
But when she hopped on my Harley, sliding her hands under my vest, I got the message loud and clear. I’d been playing it too nice, spilling my guts when what she needed was the old me, the guy she couldn’t get enough of, the one who took what he wanted.
