Hidden Heat (Brothers of Mayhem #1) Page 4

  Before he cranked the bike, his cellphone vibrated. He leaned back, pulled it from his right front pocket, and answered without looking at the screen. A belligerent conversation with Stonewall would help take his mind off the woman.

  “What now, boss?”

  “Is that any way for you to talk to your superior officer?” the deep voice said on the other end. Certainly not Stonewall. Instead, the man was Dean Harper, his handler in the Sand County Sheriff’s Office.

  He motioned to Cassidy to remain next to the bike as he walked away. The conversation needed some distance. She eyed him with open curiosity and nodded.

  “Who said you’re superior?” Thorn smiled. He glanced back at Cassidy to make sure she didn’t follow. She looked good leaning on his bike with her long, dark hair resting on her shoulders, tight jeans, and a tee shirt that hugged her in the right spots. His dick jerked. Shit!

  He turned his back, hoping for a little control.

  “I’m guessing you can talk.” Harper chuckled.

  Thorn peeked at Cassidy again. She stared at the front door of the bar. God, he hoped she wasn’t planning to go back in. It would be suicide.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. But make it quick.” He knew Harper understood. The man was a thirty-year veteran and had worked undercover in the eighties.

  “We received news they’re planning a shipment in the next couple weeks. What have you heard?”

  His current mission started out as an investigation of possible extortion and quickly morphed into a smuggling ring. The Brothers of Mayhem MC wasn’t smuggling drugs or weapons yet, but they were exporting stolen motorcycle parts to China and Russia. Harley-Davidson motorcycle parts were selling to the highest bidders.

  “Nothing so far, but I heard that Stonewall’s meeting with his inner circle tomorrow. We were told to expect a big deal to be announced. So that must be it.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later.” The line went dead.

  Thorn thumbed the delete button, ridding the phone of any evidence of an unknown number. Sure, there were ways to dig deeper and find the numbers, but no one at the MC was capable, so Thorn didn’t worry.

  “Any news of my brother?” Cassidy shouted when he started the bike and she hopped on.

  “Nope. Sorry,” he yelled back. He looked in the mirror. Worry creased her mouth and eyes. The urge to make her feel better had him saying, “I’ll do what I can to help you find him.”

  It probably was a bad idea to get in the middle of whatever Stonewall had going on with the kid, but he wanted Cassidy away from the trouble going down in the next couple of weeks.

  “Thanks. You’re the first and only person who really acted like they gave a damn.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  She squeezed his ribs and her hands opened up. One spread across his chest and the other over his stomach. Her little pinky unconsciously—he hoped to hell—slid beneath his belt and jeans. She was killing him. If she kept that up, the tip of her small finger would meet the tip of something bigger.

  He expected thirty minutes of torture before arriving at the clubhouse. Maybe if they stopped for a soda, he could get his dick under control.

  “Cassidy, do you want a—”

  He was so tied up with the woman rubbing her breasts on his back and edging her hand behind his jeans waistband, he’d missed the roar of a black sedan with tinted windows coming up beside them. The flash of the first shot had him doing a stoppie as he prayed Cassidy held on tight. His brakes squealed and the rear tire lifted, but luckily she stayed with him and the bike didn’t flip. He turned the bike and shot across the highway’s center turning lane, heading the opposite way. The car wouldn’t be able to turn so easily, but considering the Thirty-Second Street gang knew how to rebuild an engine and pull more juice out of it than most specialty-car shops, he’d be lucky to reach the next exit and lose them.

  “Who were those people?”

  Thorn glanced at Cassidy in the mirror. Her face was pale and her eyes wide in fear. He patted the trembling hands that had moved up, its fingernails biting into his abs.

  “A gang of thugs who hate the club. Actually, any MC for that matter. And they’re pissed at Stonewall for breaking off a certain agreement.” A spark lit a spot on the pavement a foot away.

  Damn! They were shooting again.

  He seriously considered pulling his gun and firing back, but it would slow him down and put Cassidy in further danger. Instead he hunched down. She took the hint and leaned with him, cutting down on wind resistance and becoming a smaller target. He twisted the throttle and his HD Street Bob shot forward. Another spark a foot closer on the pavement caused Cassidy to jerk in fear and warned him he needed to lose them immediately.

  They finally hit the exit, and he breathed in deeply. They would lose them on the curvy roads. Besides, the area was his old stomping ground, and he knew several cutoffs perfect to hide in.

  A few minutes later, he turned onto a side road. The pavement was old with potholes in both lanes, so he pointed his motorcycle down the center. There weren’t many houses on the five miles of road. A shack stood at the end, deserted for ten years or more, with the windows and doors boarded up. He drove toward the back. Cassidy pressed against his back, still holding tight.

  Damn, he liked that.

  “We’re safe now,” he said after shutting down the bike. “Get off and wait over there beneath the big oak. We’ll hang back a couple hours and then head over to the clubhouse.”

  She slowly moved off. A lot of people, unused to riding, became stiff. She walked, stooped, over to the tree and sat heavily on an overturned bucket.

  He pushed his bike into the shade of the house near the back porch. When he headed toward Cassidy, he noticed her hunched over and rocking back and forth.

  “Cassidy? What’s wrong?” He touched her shoulder. Her body shivered as if cold. Shit! It was the end of May in the Deep South, and the temp had to be in the high seventies. He recognized the symptoms of shock.

  “I think I’m shot.”

  She moved a hand from her side. Blood coated her fingers. A dark, wet line oozed more blood, pumping sluggishly.

  “Shit! Why didn’t you say something?” He pulled off his vest and shoulder holster, jabbing his pistol into the back of his jeans. She’d dropped her small backpack to the side. With a quick jerk, he tugged his shirt over his head and wrapped it around her. Laying her back into the grass, he tore her tee shirt from the bullet hole down, taking a piece out of the cotton material.

  “What are you—”

  “Shh, relax. Need to stop the bleeding. Then I’ll call for help.”

  Folding the cloth, he applied pressure to the wound. From what he could tell, the bullet gouged the flesh, leaving a furrow a couple of inches in length. Not life threatening, but shock could be a problem.

  “Am I dying?”

  He grinned down at her. “No. I wouldn’t let you anyway. I can’t have the guys saying I let a girl take a bullet for me.”

  People had been known to die of shock, but he’d be damned before he let it happen to her. Her color appeared a little better, and she wasn’t shivering anymore.

  “Yes. They might take your man card from you.” She chuckled and grimaced.

  “What did I tell you? Relax. Can you hold this to your side while I get my phone?”

  She nodded and pressed a trembling hand over his. He slipped his hand from beneath hers but took a second to smooth tangled hair from her face. He gave her a grin, hoping to assure her everything would be okay.

  He pulled his phone out and let loose a string of curses. No service. Nothing. He’d forgotten how isolated the old house was.

  “No tower nearby?” Cassidy blinked as she stared up at him.

  Telling himself that he hadn’t planned to involve an innocent like her didn’t make him feel better about the situation. What choice was there? She deserved so much more. Though headstrong, she was a good sister to worry about her brother. Not many siblings felt
that way about each other. Obviously, her brother didn’t, or he would’ve contacted her. He ran the back of a crooked finger down her cheek. That said a lot about her character.

  He glanced over to his bike. The only way he could return with help was to ride out until he found a cell tower. Shouldn’t be more than a mile or two. The hills did that. But hell, he really didn’t want to leave her alone, even for a few moments. Too much could go wrong.

  Lately, his luck sucked.

  “Cassidy, sorry, but you need help. Nothing bad, but it’d be better if we got you to a clinic and sewn up.”

  “I understand. I’ll be okay. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m comfortable. Go.”

  From the look in her eyes, he could tell she did understand. There was no way he’d put her on the motorcycle without checking the wound first. He was no EMT.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He jogged to his bike and pushed, turning it toward the road. That was when he smelled the gas. He hung his head and sighed. His bad luck was holding. Stooping next to the engine, he traced a long crease along the metal with a finger, as if the bullet had run along the tank and dug in just enough to make a hole before flying off. He wasn’t sure how the bullet’s trajectory didn’t do more damage to the bike. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had been the same bullet that hit Cassidy.

  Maybe there was enough gas left in the tank.

  He pressed the ignition button. It sputtered but caught.

  Then a familiar voice said behind him, “So, not only are you a coward, but a bastard too, for leaving a wounded girl. I should’ve killed you the last time I had a chance. Would’ve saved a lot of people heartache.”

  Thorn looked up. A tall, younger man with thick, dark-brown hair stood a distance away. The way he held the rifle, there was no way Thorn would reach his gun without being blown away.

  He slowly raised his hands and said, “Hey, little brother.”

  Chapter 4

  Cassidy watched the stranger aim the rifle at Thorn and wave him away from the bike. With the engine rumbling, she couldn’t hear what was being said. Their tone and stance gave her the hint that they weren’t friends. After a few minutes, the stranger looked in her direction and then grabbed Thorn by the arm to move farther away. She watched for a few more moments, amazed that Thorn didn’t slug the man. They continued to argue in low voices.

  One thing she’d learned growing up around a bunch of gun-toting, chest-thumping males was that they often underestimated the female. Her side hurt, but not as bad as she’d made out. She wanted to escape and the best way out of there was his bike. Time for her to take it and leave Thorn behind. She was tired of all the male testosterone holding her back from finding her brother. Stonewall and Thorn could kiss her ass.

  Scooting off the shirt beneath her and picking it up, she tied it around her waist and tucked one loop of her backpack over a shoulder. With soft footsteps to the side, she slipped behind the nearest bush. Each cautious step edged her closer to the bike.

  “Like I give a fuck what you want,” the stranger bellowed, sarcasm punctuating each word.

  Thorn swung and knocked the rifle’s muzzle toward the sky. No gunfire. The stranger hadn’t tried to shoot Thorn. So far.

  Not waiting any longer, she lunged for the bike. Struggling a little with the weight, her side hurting like a son of a bitch, she pushed off toward the road. It coughed and she gassed it some more. Then the engine roared. She ripped pass the openmouthed men.

  It felt so good to be driving a motorcycle again. She’d sold hers a couple of years ago for a more practical mode of transportation. Her foster mom worked hours as crazy as Cassidy’s and needed help taking Mitch to doctor appointments.

  The big bike maneuvered with an ease that she’d never experienced with her QLINK Adventure. Made sense. It would be like comparing a Cadillac to a smart car. Both operated and got people places, but one ran like a dream.

  She’d topped the pothole-filled road and the motorcycle sputtered. The sound was familiar. She checked the skull gas cap. The last LED light was out, and confirmed what she’d already known. The bike was out of gas. She hung her head in frustration, and that was when she smelled gas. Leaning to the side, she spotted where the bullet hit the tank. The bike slowly came to a stop. Taking a deep breath, she looked around. Not a house or car in sight. She was still in the middle of nowhere. Pressing her hand to her side, she moved off the bike.

  With no other option, she leaned it against a tree. It wasn’t the machine’s fault, and loving motorcycles the way she did, she couldn’t mistreat it.

  After swiping her forehead with the tail of her appropriated tee shirt, she started walking. Within fifteen minutes, she heard a rumble behind her. A huge dually came rattling up beside her. The bike she’d left behind rested in the bed.

  She didn’t bother looking at the passenger or driver. Without a doubt, she knew he’d have a big, fat smirk on his face.

  “Get in the truck.”

  Despite the angry tone in Thorn’s voice and the ache in her side, she ignored the command and kept walking.

  The truck moved with her. “Cassidy, don’t make me get out of this truck.”

  An unfamiliar low chuckle came from nearby. “Brother, you’ve heard the old saying about honey and vinegar.”

  “Shut up, Wolfgang.”

  “What did I tell you, Thorndyke? Call me that again and I’ll take you out and beat the shit out of you.”

  Thorndyke? She fought a grin and kept moving. She needed to get away from him. He was too nice. She wasn’t used to people like him, a contradiction to everything Mayhem. Why did he have to wear Mayhem colors? Usually, she ended up hurt. She pressed her hand to her side, swallowing a giggle. Yeah. Like that, and other ways.

  She cut her eyes toward the woods. As soon as she spotted the small path, she darted between the trees. Thorn shouted her name. With any luck, she could lose them before they stopped and exited the truck.

  With the humidity and midday sun beating down on the winding trail, she probably ran no more than a couple of football fields until she struggled to suck in deeper breaths. Standing behind a cash register for hours on end didn’t prepare a girl to run through a forest. And the pain in her side with a cold-hot feeling warned that she was bleeding again. She stopped and rested against a wide hickory tree, covering her side with one hand, pressing the shirt to her wound. With the other hand over her mouth, she tried not to make a sound. No need to give away her hiding place if he followed.

  Besides a few birds tweeting in the distance, she didn’t hear anyone pursuing her. Had he given up? Looking up between the branches to determine the direction of the sun, she headed west. As a kid, she and some neighborhood friends played in the woods, but she’d never been alone. It was a mixture of nice and creepy.

  Lifting her shoulders, she knocked a branch out of the way and moved one foot in front of the other. With a little luck she’d come across Interstate 65, and then an exit with a gas station. Maybe they would have a working payphone. She pulled around her backpack to check the pocket. Relief flowed over her as she looked at the change from the battery piled in one corner. At a slower pace, and about an hour later, she heard the roar of traffic. When she came out of the tree line next to a side road, she almost turned back.

  “You look like you’ve had enough.” Thorn threw his cigarette stub to the ground and pressed it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.

  Why did he look so sexy with his scruffy face, wearing only the vest with his jeans and boots? His chest and abs were defined enough to show he worked out. A body like that couldn’t be natural. Could it?

  “Wolf here wanted to leave you to walk back home. I have to say I was tempted.” He opened the truck door and waited. “Then again, I’d have to explain your absence to Stonewall.”

  Tired, dirty, and sweaty, with mosquito bites on nearly every inch of uncovered skin, Cassidy bit back a scream. The way he studied her, she expected him to tackle her, then bind
her ankles and wrists and throw her into the back with the bike. A long sigh escaped her lips before she stomped over to the truck and slid into the middle, glaring at the man behind the wheel.

  Wolf grinned. The name suited him. She expected him to start howling in delight.

  “Assholes,” she said beneath her breath.

  Wolf chuckled and put the truck in gear as soon as Thorn slammed the door. The two men nearly filled the bench seat without her presence in the middle. So she crossed her arms and squeezed her legs together, trying her best not to touch either one.

  “You sure do make it hard for a man to be helpful,” Thorn said, disgust evident in his tone.

  She saw no reason to tell him what he already knew. Her brother needed to return home, and she wanted to find him. So she stared straight ahead and watched the road.

  After a few miles, unable to stand the silence, she refused to talk to Thorn but asked Wolf, “Are you part of the Mayhem MC?” The guy wasn’t wearing the club’s colors. But it wasn’t unusual when a member drove a car or truck to stash his vest. They were worn while riding their bikes, but rarely in cages, as they called automobiles.

  “Hell, no.” He laughed as if she’d said something funny. Wolf had lighter-blue eyes than Thorn, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His hair was a little long over his ears and around his collar, giving him a playful look. He was a handsome man.

  “Don’t tell her nothing.” Thorn placed his arm over the back of the seat and glared at the man behind the steering wheel.

  With some effort she turned her back to Thorn, giving him a cold shoulder. “Then why do you call each other brother?”

  “Wolf.” Thorn’s voice had a warning tone. The man really was uptight.

  “What? Are you ashamed of your family, brother?”

  “Damn it. She didn’t need to know.”

  “Oh, my God. You’re for-real brothers, as in siblings? And why shouldn’t I know?” Everyone knew who her brother was, and her father. She wasn’t ashamed of her brother. Maybe that was the deal. Thorn was ashamed of Wolf. Peering at the driver, he was a tad rough around the edges, what with the faded tee shirt emblazoned with some obscure high school team on the front, and the jeans sporting busted-out knees, but he looked no different than a hundred other men she knew.