White Heat (Lost Kings MC #5)

  Izzard strolls up and taps his baton against the bars of my cell. Such a bad-guard cliché. I’m offended by his lack of originality.

  “Heard you had some hot piece-of-ass lawyer visit you today, North.”

  I don’t respond or react in any way. Not too long ago, I would have attempted to choke him through the bars for talking ‘bout my woman like that. But I like to think I’ve grown older and wiser over the years.

  “Funny, I think I ran into her when she was leaving. Had some big, blond dude all over her. Swear it looked like one of the guys in your crew, but that can’t be right. She signed him in as her assistant.”

  He knows.

  Fuck. The last thing Hope needs is to get in trouble. Because of our “gang association” Wrath probably wouldn’t be allowed in to visit with me. To avoid that possibility, we decided he should come in with Hope as her assistant. They wouldn’t dig as deep if he came in with a lawyer. Especially one who appeared as innocent as Hope. We’ve worked that angle with Glassman in the past. Now I’m rethinking the whole thing as far as Hope is concerned. Except, I can’t let her run around unprotected. And I know it will hurt her if I tell her not to come visit me.

  “Guy looked more like her boyfriend the way he had his hands all over her.”

  That finally gets my attention and I flick my gaze in Lizard’s direction. Not for the reasons he’s thinking though.

  I trust Wrath with my life.

  I trust Hope more than I trust anyone.

  No fucking way is anything going on between them. It’s not even a question in my mind.

  The more likely scenario is that after seeing me in here—in my spiffy orange jumpsuit, and isn’t that just some sort of full-circle irony bullshit—and putting on such a brave face for my benefit, she fucking lost her shit the minute they stepped outside.

  I fuckin’ hate that I did that to her.

  “They finally moved their make-out session to his truck. Tinted windows—couldn’t see much.”

  I contemplate the wisdom of asking Lizard if his son should grow up without a father. See, I’ve done my research on the asshole.

  But I’m really not in the mood to take a beating right now. My ribs are still sore from the “conversation” I had with this asshole yesterday. Inside these walls, my options are limited. I fight back, I’ll get time added or worse.

  And I have a wedding I plan to be at in a few short months.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Another night and no sleep. Every time I close my eyes, shiny metal wrapped around Rock’s wrists is all I see.

  Wrath told me the guys are taking shifts patrolling the property. Keeping an eye on things.

  I don’t plan to go far when I open our door and step into the hallway. My bare feet make no sound as I creep down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, I catch the glow from the war room. Worried, something’s wrong, I hurry down the stairs.

  Wrath’s in the war room by himself. In his chair. Staring at a stack of photographs. Nursing what looks like the bottle of scotch I bought Rock for his birthday.

  “You can come in, Hope,” he says without turning around.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “My job.”

  He still hasn’t turned around, so I walk around the table until I’m facing him. He points to Rock’s chair. “Sit.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asks after I settle in to the big, leather “throne.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Yeah. Rough day.”

  “You?” I ask.

  “Same.”

  I point to the bottle. “Are you drinking Rock’s scotch?”

  “Yeahhhp. Whiskey wasn’t cuttin’ it.” He half-smiles and taps the bottle, making a muted clinking sound. “Last time we drank this together was the night he told me he was gonna marry you.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmmhhmmm.”

  I nod at the photos. “What’s that?”

  He picks up the one on top of the stack and tosses in my direction. “Ancient history.”

  “Oh my gosh, is that—”

  “Yup.”

  The photo’s of a much-younger Rock, Wrath, Z and a guy I don’t recognize.

  “You’re all so baby-faced and un-inked.”

  He snorts at my observation.

  “Who’s the fourth guy?”

  “Lucky.”

  “Who—”

  “Unluckiest bastard ever. That’s how he got his road name.” He tips his head down and meets my eyes. “Rock’s never mentioned him?”

  “No,” I whisper. The air pulses around me heavy with whatever’s on Wrath’s mind tonight.

  “They were friends when I met Rock. Hell, Lucky’s probably the one who brought Rock to one of my fights.”

  I keep quiet because, except for bits and pieces this is the most I’ve heard about their shared past in a long time.

  “When Rock found out I had nowhere to live, he invited me to stay with him. Granted, he wanted me to teach him how to fight. Didn’t mean he had to give me a place to stay.”

  “Were he and Lucky roommates?”

  “Nah. Rock doesn’t share space well.” He snorts. “Found that out after I moved in.” He snickers at some private memory and I try to picture what they must have been like back then.

  His face darkens and he takes another sip of scotch. “Rock got blamed for Lucky’s death too,” he says after a few minutes.

  “Landon Michaels,” I whisper.

  Wrath sits up straighter. “How—”

  “I had Rock’s rap sheet when I represented him. Manslaughter. I always thought he must have been a rival, or it was an accident…I never asked for details…”

  “It was no accident. And he was no rival. Our greedy fuck ex-president was responsible. Rock and Grinder went to prison for it.”

  “Who’s Grinder?”

  “Rock’s mentor. He was the SAA.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “Prison.”

  “Oh. Rock never mentions him.”

  “It’s…awkward. He went to see him not long ago.” He waves his hand in the air. “When you two were on a break.”

  “Oh.” I’ve got so many more questions. But Wrath seems to be getting agitated, so I wait to see if he’ll speak again.

  “Club’s supposed to be a brotherhood. All seen each other at our worst. Doing our worst. Need to know they can keep their mouths shut. Have to be able to trust your brothers with your life. Literally.”

  “And you couldn’t do that before?”

  “No. This brotherhood’s supposed to be about giving your brother half of what you have if he needs it. Ruger—that was the old prez—cared way more about lining his own fucking pockets.”

  Wow. The way he explains it makes me understand the guys’ attitudes—the way they’re always eager to help each other out, no matter what—so much better.

  “Grinder wanted to change that. That’s what attracted guys like him to this in the first place.”

  “Rock too, obviously.”

  “Yup. Brothers should always have each other’s backs. Doesn’t matter why. Doesn’t matter if he’s wrong, you defend him anyway.”

  “I’m surprised Ruger let Rock back in the club when he got out?”

  “He didn’t have a choice. Rock never lost his place here. It’s the risk we all take. Club members suck it up and do their time. No bitching. No snitching. That’s how it is. Everyone knew he didn’t have shit to do with Lucky’s death.”

  “What did you and Z do while he was away?”

  “Bided our time and gathered information. Well, Teller and Murphy gathered information. Ruger just assumed they were dumb kids and he could mold them the way he wanted. But those two have never been stupid. They knew what their futures looked like if Ruger stayed in.”

  He glances down and flips through a bunch of photos, then flings one to me.

  “Oh my. Oh my God! Is that Murphy?”

  “Yup. Chubby little bastard
, wasn’t he?”

  “Aw, he’s so cute. He’s so baby-faced.” Dear God, Murphy’s been part of the club in one way or another since he was a kid.

  The next one he tosses to me has to be of Murphy and Teller.

  “Where were these?”

  “In Rock’s cabinet.” Wrath pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and dangles them in front of me. Rock’s keys. I raise an eyebrow at him.

  He lifts his shoulder. “He can kick my ass when he gets out if he wants.”

  The sound of the front door opening has me jumping out of my chair, but Wrath motions at me to sit back down. As I do, we hear someone punching the alarm code into the keypad.

  Z pokes his head in the door and lifts his chin at me. “Everything okay?”

  Correction, shirtless Z is in the doorway. He saunters in, rounds the table, patting me on the shoulder as he passes and drops into his seat.

  “Christ, brother, put your fuckin’ shirt on,” Wrath mutters.

  “Fucking hot out, dick.”

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yup. Didn’t see a single bear.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s no bears up here.”

  “Uh, yeah there are, Hope.”

  “Jeez.”

  The two of them laugh at me. Jerks.

  “Anyway, Murphy’s finishing up his round. What are you two up to?”

  I hand over one of the photos Wrath gave me earlier. Z cracks up. “Jesus. Where did you find these?”

  “Rock’s locker,” Wrath answers.

  Z nods as if that doesn’t surprise him.

  “So, Wrath must be in the mellow reminiscing stage of drunkenness. Don’t let him drink much more, he’s a nasty drunk, Hope.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “See?” Z snickers. He pushes out of the chair and jogs out into the common area.

  Wrath holds the scotch out to me. “Want?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He leans back in his chair, stretching his impossibly long body, to reach for a small refrigerator against the wall, and pulls out a bottle of water to hand me.

  “Thanks,” I say as I uncap it.

  Z returns—completely dressed—carrying a small box.

  “Wrath says you’re a pro at this,” Z teases as he rolls a joint and lights it.

  “At rolling it or smoking it? Both are lies.”

  Wrath and Z both laugh at that.

  Z rolls a second joint and hands it over. “I think you’ve earned your own.”

  “No kidding,” I say through a mouthful of giggles.

  We’re quiet until I choke on a lungful of smoke.

  Once I can breathe again, Z leans forward. “Can I ask you something, Hope?”

  “Of course.”

  “That video you were sent. How come you were so positive it was old? It wasn’t even a question in your mind.”

  A glance at Wrath shows he’s interested in the answer too and my cheeks heat up under their scrutiny.

  “I know him. Even before we were together I understood fidelity meant something to him.” I inhale longer than necessary so I can think over how to explain it in a way that might make sense. When my lungs are screaming, I blow the smoke out and answer his question. “He told me what he did after my husband passed away. I don’t know what the point of that would have been if he planned to cheat on me.”

  Wrath nods, but Z bursts with laughter. “He told you about his year of monkhood? Holy shit. We all thought he lost his fuckin’ mind.”

  “He was gone over you from the day you met,” Wrath says.

  “I know,” I answer quietly.

  “Do you understand how rare that is in our world, Hope?” Z asks.

  “What? A year without sex?”

  He snorts. “Yeah, that too. No, committing to one woman. That’s sort of the appeal of all of this.” He throws his arms up in the air, indicating the whole clubhouse. “The free and easy sex.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” I answer while rolling my eyes.

  Wrath’s watching Z closely and I’m not sure if he knows where his brother’s going with this conversation. If he figures it out, I hope he clues me in.

  “A lot of guys in the life will have a citizen wife, outside the MC. Never has anything to do with the club. Then he’ll have an old lady or whatever muffler bunnies at the club.”

  Yuck. “So? Lots of men have mistresses on the side.”

  Z shakes his head. “It’s different.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Do I need to have one?”

  “I think the deviant’s point is that Rock really loves you,” Trinity says from the doorway.

  Z picks his head up and grins. “Exactly. Thank you, Trinity.”

  She steps in the room, shaking her head. “What are you guys all doing up so late?”

  Wrath holds his hand out to her. As she comes closer, she takes it and he yanks her into his lap. “Why you up, angel?”

  “I woke up, and you weren’t there,” she says softly.

  He skims the back of his hand over her cheek. “Sorry.”

  They’re so sweet together, my chest aches.

  “Anyway, our old prez was one of the wife and mistress types. I think it always disgusted Rock,” Z says.

  “He doesn’t really seem like he would interfere if that’s what the guys want to do,” I say.

  Wrath shakes his head. “No. He wouldn’t. It’s not his place.”

  “You said you grew up in a club, Trinity. Was it like that?” I ask.

  “Worse,” is all she says.

  Wrath tightens his hold on her.

  “Carla cut him deep when she split while he was doing time,” Z says.

  “I know. When I met her down at Sway’s place, she told me it was because she was scared.”

  Z and Wrath share a look. “Club was in a different place back then. As much as I hate to defend that skank, the club wouldn’t have protected her,” Wrath elaborates.

  “Because she was already running around on him, or because of something else?” I ask.

  “Because our old prez wouldn’t have given two shits about someone’s bitch. She would have had to earn her keep some other way,” Wrath clarifies.

  “Huh.”

  “I’m glad I met you guys after,” Trinity says softly.

  Wrath scowls at the table but doesn’t answer.

  Trinity turns to me. “The three of them were something else. I must have met you guys right after you got voted in.”

  Z and Wrath stare at each other briefly. “Yeah, right after,” Z says slowly.

  “First thing I did was tease them about how clean their patches were.”

  “Yes, she did,” Z agrees affectionately.

  “Then she blew me off,” Wrath says with a smile.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, that’s right. She tricked me into giving her a ride,” Wrath says with the first genuine smile I’ve seen all night.

  Trinity laughs. “I hadn’t been on a bike since I left home. I just wanted a ride.” She glances at Wrath. “I got one.”

  Wrath squeezes her hip and kisses her cheek. “Yeah you did,” he whispers in her ear.

  I’m curious because it’s not until recently that they seem to have made up. “Rock said it was partially his fault you guys didn’t stay together…” I prod.

  “Oh, that’s not fair,” Trinity says.

  Wrath rolls his eyes. “He should have told me,” he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

  “That’s not fair,” Trinity protests again. “I begged him not to. Especially you.”

  Wrath growls and finishes his scotch. “Ancient history, babe. Forward not backward, right?”

  She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Right.”

  Z glances over at me with a mixture of guilt and curiosity. “They both should have said something to someone,” he says. Trinity and Wrath both stare at him and I decide it’s a good time to keep my mouth shut.

&n
bsp; “Anyway,” Trinity says. “Rock was nice. Didn’t talk to me like I was a T-bone steak.”

  Z throws his hand over his heart. “I was nice to you.”

  “True.” She turns my way. “Then, I had some trouble and Wrath was out of town, so I called Rock—”

  “Still wish you’d called me,” Wrath growls.

  Trinity’s hand brushes his cheek. “I know. But you were gone. Anyway. I called Rock. I don’t know what he was doing—”

  “Probably getting head,” Z interrupts.

  All three of us scowl at him.

  “Sorry,” he says to me.

  “Anyway, he didn’t hesitate. He brought Dex and Teller and they got me the hell out of there. He gave me protection and shelter. Not many guys in this world, if any, would do that for some chick they barely knew. He could have... you know, said, sure we’ll protect you if you blow me, but he never did. Instead, he told me to stay here. He didn’t know me from—”

  “Rock’s always been able to read people well,” Z says.

  “Why you smoking up without me, bro?” Murphy calls out, then enters the war room. “Oh, hey. You’re all up.”

  He takes the seat next to Z and grabs the joint from him. I hand Z mine. “I’m done.”

  Z flips one of the photographs to Murphy, who snorts. “Jesus Christ, why’d you show her this?”

  “So she could see what a chubby little fuck you were until we got our hands on you,” Wrath says.

  “Dude, that sounds so gay,” Murphy snaps back. “I was husky,” Murphy says with false-indignation. “Not chubby.” Murphy looks me in the eye. “I had to be resourceful. My mom was a fuckin’ crackwhore, so I used to get all the neighborhood ladies to feed me.”

  “Obviously you made out well,” Z says with a snicker.

  “Fuck yeah, I did. Even Teller’s grandmother would have me over for dinner, until we got in deeper with the club.”

  “What were you, bro, like twelve when you started comin’ around the old clubhouse?” Wrath asks.

  “I dunno. Probably.”

  “He used to follow Teller down on his little huffy,” Z explains, while miming riding a bike.

  Instead of being insulted, Murphy seems to enjoy when the guys pick on him.

  “Rock saw his potential right away.” Wrath points at Murphy. “Little fucker’s always been talented with a wrench. He could fix anything you put in front of him.”