Anya stepped closer to Reaper as if for protection. He felt her slide one hand into his back pocket, her fingers curling into a tight fist. "It isn't your business if Reaper makes me his old lady. You don't have a say in my life."
The room went electric. Wired. Silent as hell. Reaper's heart dropped. Czar was president of Torpedo Ink. He had a say in every club member's life. He saw the same knowledge on Czar's face that was on every member's face.
"Honey"--Czar's voice was very gentle and very patient--"saying that just goes to show you don't understand what you're getting yourself into. By accepting Reaper, you're accepting all of us. Including my leadership. You're good for Reaper. For all of us, but we have to be fair here. You have to understand exactly what being part of us means."
"I don't have to do anything with the people who took me to their interrogation room and put me through hell in order to be with Reaper." Anya stated it firmly.
"Reaper . . ." Czar shook his head, regret in his voice.
Reaper's stomach clenched. He felt, rather than saw, Anya look up at him. She knew something was wrong from the way everyone in the room sat or stood frozen, expressions of pure alarm on their faces. He was certain his countenance had the same look.
Time tunneled. His brothers and sisters. His colors. His way of life. He was torn in half, wrenched apart. He didn't know how to live without them. More than thirty years. All the pain. Suffering. The kills. The shared food they'd cut so carefully into equal portions. Images of screaming children, of ugly, vile men and women coming at him when there was no defense. Czar, comforting him. Whispering there was hope. They would find a way. It all came down to this.
Czar had led them here to make them human again. To force them to be better people. Half animal, all killer, they had choices now. Reaper looked down at the woman holding so tightly to him. She'd brought him more than natural releases. She'd brought him something close to happiness.
"You once said to me, Czar, that if you had to make a choice, if we couldn't accept Blythe into our family, equally, with all the rest of us, that you would stay with her while we moved on. Not accepting Anya gives me no choice. I go with her."
Anya heard Reaper say the words, looked at his face and knew he meant it. Heart pounding, she felt triumph burst through her. Czar was an asshole, a complete bastard to subject her to his inquisition. Reaper had chosen her. His arm nearly crushed her. She looked up at his face a second time and everything in her stilled. He was choosing her, but he was being torn apart in doing so.
"It isn't the same, Reaper. We accept her. She refuses to see us. To get to know us. We're your fuckin' family and she's shutting us out because of one mistake. Think about that, what could happen, because you're going to make mistakes, brother. You'll make a million of them. Anya"--there was a note close to a plea--"we're his family. We want to be yours."
Czar's eyes met Anya's. She felt the impact right down to her toes. He wasn't angry. He was ravaged. Destroyed. In pain. She looked from him to the others. Savage had risen to his feet and moved subtly, coming to stand near his brother. Ice and Storm had done the same. Lana clutched a jacket in her hands, all but crushing the material, her face showing the same pain. The others echoed that same broken sorrow as well.
Anya looked up at Reaper. It was on his face. Her beautiful scarred, damaged man was in the same pain the others were in. They shared it. She felt it, as if that pain tore them apart, shredded them, leaving them raw, leaving them all with a huge gaping wound she knew would never be repaired.
He would go with her. She had that power. But if he went, he would never be whole. He would never be Reaper. She'd had glimpses into his past, the past he shared with every single one of these men and women. It was ugly, and it was brutal. But something beautiful had come out of it. They had created a tapestry together. Or rather, Czar had woven them together so they would be whole. So they could live. She saw that so clearly in their faces. More, she felt it.
Anya looked around the room. Most didn't meet her eyes, looking down when her gaze touched on them, ashamed, guilty. Absinthe shook his head and looked away, but she thought she caught the sheen of water in his eyes. Her breath caught in her lungs and stayed there. Without Reaper, they weren't whole. Without them, he would never be whole. Intact. The Reaper she'd fallen for.
She saw each one of them look to Czar. She found herself doing so as well. She didn't know how to resolve the situation. She only knew that these broken, damaged individuals weren't quite so broken or damaged when they were together. Her eyes met Czar's.
"You see?" he said quietly. "You're part of him now. That makes you part of us. You feel it too. You know we need one another. We need you now too."
"I don't want to be second."
"Does it feel that way to you? Really? Look around you." He gestured around the room. "None of them are second. Does it feel as if Lana or Alena are second?"
"They were with you. In that school. They were with you. I wasn't."
"We need light to keep us out of the dark. Blythe provides that. You do too."
She liked that he said that--that he thought it. That he put her in the same category as his beloved wife. Anya had to find a way to make it right. For Reaper. Because in the end, she wanted to be with him more than she wanted to hold on to her anger, justified as it was. She also wanted the family, as insane as they all were. She knew she was going to stay with them and it made her crazy to think she had fallen for him that far.
"He's bossy. You're bossy. God."
She feigned exasperation with Czar, with Reaper, but felt it mostly with herself because she knew she couldn't take Reaper away from these people. He would go, but he would be a shadow of himself. She threw her hands into the air, pushed him aside and stalked across the room to Lana. She held out her hand for the jacket.
Lana looked up at her, searched her face carefully and then smiled. Huge. She handed the jacket to Anya. Anya shook it out. On the back, it had stitching, beautiful patches that said Property of Torpedo Ink. Reaper. They couldn't have just gotten the patches. They had to be made up and that took time. She whirled around to glare at Reaper. He had to have ordered the idiot thing.
"Property?" She nearly screeched it. "Are you kidding me?"
"Someone has to keep your sweet little ass in line," Reaper said. "You've got a hell of a temper, woman. Pretending to agree with everyone and plotting in your fucked-up little mind doesn't get past me."
"Property means you're protected by the club," Lana whispered. "It doesn't mean he can order you around. Well, unless we're on a run. Then it's best not to embarrass him in public because he's kind of mean."
"I can see this is a bad, bad idea," Anya said aloud, but there were some butterflies, wondering how long ago Reaper had sent away for the patches.
"Too late, babe, you already said yes."
The others were gathering around Reaper, clapping him on the back. She heard Czar mutter something about a hellion, and Ice said he was glad they didn't have to kidnap her. She glared at him, about to ask questions, but then she caught sight of Absinthe. He hadn't moved. She took a deep breath. This one was for Reaper. If she was committing, she had to do it all the way and wipe the slate clean. She went straight to him. Immediately a hush fell over the room. She didn't turn around because she didn't want to lose her courage.
"Absinthe?" She held out her hand. "Buy me a drink later and we'll call it good, okay? If you're going to be my brother, though, we're setting some ground rules."
His smile was slow. It didn't reach his eyes. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be him--to be any of them. Whatever talents they had, they'd all honed them to perfection in order to survive. Absinthe hated what he did, what he had to do for the others, but he did it.
"No worries, it's strictly forbidden to use on one another. That means you now."
She smiled at him as he took her hand and shook it to seal the deal.
"Now we need to get down to business," Czar said. "We don't
have a lot of time. Anya, can you reproduce the blueprints you saw?"
"Yes. I like to draw. I have an eye for detail, and I really thought the blueprints were cool. They were very old. I sketched various pieces on my sketch pad with the idea that I would paint it on canvas someday, or cover the walls of a room."
"Your sketch pad?"
She shrugged. "What did you think I did all those nights sleeping in my car? I draw. It relaxes me. The sketch pad is in the backseat along with my clothes." She didn't have many clothes, but she had two sketch pads.
Czar glanced at Transporter, who immediately left the room. "What else did you hear while you were down in that wine cellar? You didn't just hear them say they had someone by the balls, did you? Because that isn't worth killing over. Even for that and the blueprints."
"They were talking about the Diamondbacks, the motorcycle club. The MC's president's wife. They had information on her, where she worked, she runs out by the Mendocino dam. That sort of thing."
"I'll need to know every single word you can remember," Czar said, all business.
Anya nodded. She had a very good memory.
TWELVE
"Alena." Tom Randal waved and hurried toward her.
Alena turned and sent him a high-wattage smile. She wore tight, pencil-thin jeans, ruffled leather boots with spike heels and a formfitting red top that hugged her curves. Her platinum hair was a fall of waves around her face. Red lips matched the blouse she wore as well as the color on her long nails. "Tom, how lovely to see you."
The private investigator came right up to her, all smiles, clearly happy to see her. Alena reached out and touched his arm, ran her finger from shoulder to elbow, over his biceps. His head jerked up and he reached for her packages.
"I've been out shopping. I love to cook," Alena explained. "I don't know if you noticed, but that building on the main street just past the bar is going to be a small, intimate restaurant. All mine."
"That surprises me," Tom said. "A beautiful woman like you enjoys cooking?"
Alena hung on to her smile. It was rather insulting the way he said it, as if because she was beautiful, she might not have the brains to cook. Or worse, that women who enjoyed cooking probably weren't good-looking.
"I love it. I cook for my brothers and sometimes all the others. I'm used to handling a large group, so I think I'll be good cooking for strangers. Are you enjoying our little town?"
Tom nodded, setting a slow pace so he had more time to spend alone with her. "It surprised me how nice it is here. The ocean is different. Wild one minute, and smooth as glass the next."
"I thought you were staying in Fort Bragg, but here you are in our lovely Sea Haven." Alena waved at Inez as she passed the woman on the opposite side of the street. "That's my car."
"Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"
Alena hesitated. Looked conflicted as if no, she didn't have the time, but really wanted to be with him longer. "I have to get these groceries home. I'd love to have a cup of coffee and be able to talk awhile. Do you have time to follow me to Caspar? It isn't that far."
It was his turn to hesitate. She knew he wanted to talk, not just because she was an alluring woman, but because he wanted information on the club, specifically, on Czar and Blythe. With his private investigation business, he was good at extracting the data he wanted from people--probably women. He was good-looking and knew it.
Alena laid her hand on his arm and dropped her voice low. "No one is around today."
Tom nodded, making up his mind, flashing her a smile. "I'll follow you. My car's just across the street."
Her smile jerked his head up again, it was so bright and happy. He strode across the street, and she glanced up toward the roof where Storm lay watching, his eye to the scope of a high-powered rifle. She sent him a quick smirk and a thumbs-up. Thomas Randal wasn't going to be having nearly the pleasurable afternoon that he thought he was.
Sliding behind the wheel of her classy little BMW, she drove straight back to the compound, Randal following. She led him through the parking lot, around behind the clubhouse building. The back of the compound was covered with trees and shadowed. They had made certain no cameras were recording to catch glimpses of Randal's car turning into Caspar and making his way to the Torpedo Ink compound. There were two parking spots, both empty. Tom slid out of his car and went straight to her, taking the two bags of groceries.
"Nice entrance."
"Much more private. I don't disturb the club. I have a room and bathroom to myself just off the kitchen." She unlocked the door with her key and, making a show of shielding the keypad, turned off the alarm system.
"I wouldn't think a system like that would do much good with all the club members in and out of here," Tom observed.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "This wing of the compound is entirely separate from the clubhouse. They can come and go and I have no idea who is here and who's not. They don't have a clue if I'm home."
"It looked like your brother kept close tabs on you," he pointed out, setting the groceries on the counter and looking around.
The kitchen was very large and all the appliances were commercial grade and stainless steel. She worked efficiently at putting the groceries away, including the ice cream, her reason for making certain she needed to go home immediately.
"My brothers like to think they can rule my life, but they don't. They're good guys, and in the end, they want me happy. You want coffee or espresso? I can make a few drinks, but I'm no barista. I do have killer cookies to go with the coffee."
"Coffee's good." He leaned over the counter watching her work. Mostly keeping his eyes glued to her ass cupped lovingly in the jeans.
"How'd your brothers get involved in the club? No one knows much about Torpedo Ink or its members."
She shrugged and sent him another sweet smile over her shoulder. "We decided to settle here, but it's right in the middle of Diamondback territory. Czar immediately contacted the president of the Mendocino chapter to pay his respects and get permission for the club to reside here. They said yes, with the usual provisions, and here we are."
"You've met the Diamondback president?" Tom sounded both intrigued and a little in awe. "You say Diamondback and everyone immediately thinks criminals. Are they as bad as the press makes them out to be?"
She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I stay out of club business. We go on runs with them sometimes, but that's all. We don't mix with them much."
"You like the life?" Now he sounded genuinely interested.
Alena decided his expression and tone when he asked questions was what made him such a good private investigator. He could make casual conversation, and sound as if every answer was important to him.
"I was born into the club. I don't really know any other life." She put his coffee in front of him, picked up the plate of cookies and her own mug of coffee. "Come on, I'll show you a phenomenal view. We'll take the shortcut. There's so many cool things about this building. There's a stairway that leads right to the cliffs. The smugglers used to bring their boats in close and the owners of the building would go down the stairs straight to the cliffs above the cove. There are stairs carved into the cliffs leading down to the cove. Of course no one uses them anymore, although they're surprisingly kept up."
She chattered away, giving out information a man like Randal would need to give to a hit team or just convey to his bosses at the Ghost Club. He followed her, once more enjoying the view of her swaying hips as she led the way through a door to a narrow stairway. The stairs were old, just as she'd said.
"You've never gone down to the cove?" he asked.
"My brothers would kill me. I think they have, but they strictly forbid it. They said it was too dangerous."
It was a way into the compound, one a beautiful woman with no brain would never consider a danger to the club. There she was, chatting away, giving out the kinds of information Randal wanted without even batting her long lashes.
"But they've been
down there?"
She nodded. "Yes, more than once, that's how I know you can still go down to the cove from up here. It doesn't seem like it because the first stair looks as if you're dropping off into space. It's crazy. And a little scary. I've never tried it because, honestly, it looks as dangerous as Storm said it was."
"Why is he called Storm?"
"Most road names are given over some incident, usually funny, or unusual." She paused at the end of the stairway to wait for him. "I forgot to tell you," she added, taking a sip of her coffee. "We have a thing about anyone prying into club business. You have to be careful."
He frowned. "Asking about his name is prying into club business?"
She turned and walked deeper into the hallway. "This leads back outside. Cool, right? I don't know how many years it's been here, but I do know it's really old." She kept chatting and then came to an abrupt stop again and turned and faced him. "Want a cookie? They're so good. I'll hold your coffee for you."
"I'm good."
"No, really. Take the cookie, Tom. You're going to wish you had."
He took a cookie and bit into it. He smiled at her. "These are good. Best I've eaten."
She handed him the plate and took the coffee cup right out of his hand. "Enjoy them." Her gaze left him and lifted to the man behind him. "Hey, Storm. Nice timing." The smile faded as Tom looked behind him to see the big biker blocking his way back. When the private investigator turned back, Alena wasn't smiling at all.
"Tom, women aren't gullible, you know. Men are. Especially men like you. I don't like someone playing me. I don't give out information on my club. Not. Ever. I'm certain Storm and Ice will answer any questions you have."
Tom lunged at her, knowing he couldn't get past the big man blocking the hall behind him. Alena kicked him hard in the stomach, doubling him over. She put a hand on the back of his head. "Honey, I grew up with sixteen brothers and a kick-ass sister. You don't have a chance against me." She turned and walked down the hall, not looking back once, not even when Tom shrieked. Loudly.
Anya smiled at Bannister as she put the beer in front of him. "You look tired tonight, Harry," she said, her voice gentle. She had gotten his given name out of him the second day she'd worked. No one else ever called the old biker by his given name. He was always Bannister. "When was the last time you ate?"