Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4) (11 page)

Butler raised his glass. “Here’s to no more
justs
.”

I raised my glass, willing the tears gathering in my eyes to stop. “No
justs
.”

Clink
.

Our eyes remained on each other as we drank.

“Looky what we have here.” A sneering voice sliced between us.

A sour smell filled my nostrils as a heavy arm seized my shoulders. I coughed up my soda.

Butler’s eyes glinted at the bearded biker who’d slid into the seat next to me. Every inch of Butler’s massive body tightened. “Let go of her now.”

The biker only grinned. A menacing ugly grin.

A threat.

“WHAT THE HELL
?” I rasped.

The biker gripped my shoulders tighter, and I winced. He cradled my head with his hand, and I grunted as his damp rubbery lips moved against my skin.

“Your boyfriend’s famous, darlin’. Nothing like crossing paths when you least expect it.”

My gaze landed on his free hand, which was planted on the table. A broken, jagged black knife was tattooed on the back of his hand. Letters tattooed on his thumb and each of his fingers spelled the word
Blade
.

A Broken Blade from Nebraska?

I’d heard a few of the One-Eyed Jacks mention them in passing. And I’d overheard Catch mention them while talking on his cell phone when he was at our mother’s a couple of months ago.

“Um, I’m not his—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, but trust me, douchebag, you don’t want to involve her,” said Butler on a hiss.

The Blade’s thick fingers closed around my neck. “I don’t give two shits. I’m here to tell you that Notch don’t like you interfering.”

“I’m not interfering in anything.”

“You’re a One-Eyed Jack, and—”

“I sure as hell am, and I sure as fuck don’t answer to you or your club, only my national.” Butler’s eyes flared, his face as immovable as marble.

“Word’s out that you’ve been working with—”

In a blur of movement, Butler flipped his steak knife in his hand and jabbed it down into the Blade’s hand that was planted on the table. The Blade let out a grunt, but his greasy hold on my neck only tightened.

Butler’s eyes lit up as he dragged the knife down the man’s hand. Blood spurted from the slice. My breath throttled in my throat.

“Let go of the lady, or I’m gonna have to tell the Flames you messed with one of their own,” Butler said.

“What?”

“You know Catch, the Sergeant at Arms of the Flames of Hell?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure I do.” His voice was strained. He let out a tight grunt.

“This here’s his sister. I’m doing him a personal favor and seeing her home.”

“Ah, fuck.” The Blade shoved me away, as if I were a burning pot on the stove that he had touched by accident.

My body smacked against the nearby wall. “Ouch!”

Butler’s focus did not waver from the Blade, who winced and hissed. I sat up and flattened myself against the wall.

“Unless you want this knife all the way up your arm until I dig it into your neck, you best move along. Or I’m gonna have to call Catch and Finger.” Butler glanced at me, his chin lifted. “You got your brother’s number handy, babe?”

I slid my phone across the table toward Butler, and he caught it with his free hand, his eyes steady on the Blade.

Butler’s eyes blazed with icy blue fire. “What’s it gonna be?”

“My mistake. Huge mistake. Let me buy you two another round, huh?” said the Blade.

My eyes darted to his colors. The name Pick was patched on the front.

As in, ice pick? Or maybe for nose picker?

“It’s up to the lady. What do you think, Tania?” Butler dug the knife in deeper in the Blade’s hand, who let out a groan, his face twisting.

I cleared my throat. “Make that two shots of tequila, would you?”

“You sure that’s all you want?” Butler asked, his lips tipping up.

“And an order of chocolate cheesecake. Oh, and an apology.”

“You heard her,” said Butler.

“Sorry,” muttered Pick through gritted teeth. “Very fuckin’ sorry.”

Butler unstuck the knife from Pick’s hand and wiped the blood off on Pick’s sleeve. “Get moving.”

I tossed a few napkins on the table before him, and Pick grabbed them, pressing them over his wound, as he trudged off toward the bar.

“I never thought my brother would ever come to my rescue, but there you have it,” I said.

Butler slid the steak knife to the opposite end of the table. “You okay?”

“Peachy. What the hell was that about?”

He got up from his seat and slid in next to me, his arm around my shoulders. “That was bullshit. He recognized me and thought he could take advantage. Everyone’s got a bone to pick these days.”

“Terrific.” I brushed my hair behind my ears, ignoring my pulse spiking at the touch of his fingers on my shoulder, the press of his warm, hard body next to mine.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I glanced up at him. “How about you? Are you okay?”

“Me?” He dipped his chin, turned his head to the side, and fiddled with the paper place mat on the table.

I had asked a surprising question.

“Yes. Are you okay?” I touched his chest, and he seemed to wince as he took in a deep breath.

“I like your perfume. It’s…”

“Peppery.”

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” He shook his head, as if my perfume had gotten stuck inside there. “Pepper and flowers. What a combination.”

“There are all sorts of peppercorns, you know—red, pink, white, green as well as good ole black. Each has its different charms.”

“Very different.” He leaned in closer to me, his nose brushing the side of my jaw, his heat fanning my skin, and I held my breath.

A waitress brought over two shots of tequila and two bottles of beer. Butler pulled back and adjusted himself in his seat.

“Thank you.” I grabbed one of the small glasses and tossed it back. The sting roared down my throat, and I wiped at my lips with my thumb. “Ah, shit.”

“Been a while?”

“Mmhmm.” I nodded. “So, what was that with Mr. Pick? One of those never-ending crazy vendetta things?”

“Something like that. Notch, the Blades’ president likes making waves and grandstanding. His hatred for the Jacks goes back to Dig’s time. And the Flames and the Blades used to be friendly, but the past decade-plus, not so much. Word is the Blades aren’t doing well financially anymore. They’ve been losing members and a few of their chapters have even shut down. Notch is outnumbered, and he knows it.”

My eyes shot back to the bar where the Blade was sitting with another biker. A biker from another club.

“Look, he’s hanging out with someone from a different club. No vendetta shit there.”

Butler’s head snapped toward the bar, his eyes landing on Pick sitting with a man who had a patch on the back of his jacket which read,
Smoking Guns MC, Kansas
. I pursed my lips at the logo of a skeleton with a satanic grin on his face, holding two revolvers in his bony claws.

I knew that image. I’d seen it before.

Butler muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“You remember how I got my road name?” he asked, his voice curt, low.

“I sure do. You were a prospect. Another club was visiting, and one of their members was an asshole to you, making you his slave for the night until you couldn’t take it anymore. You exploded and rammed a broken beer bottle in his neck, yelling, ‘What do I look like? Your fucking butler?’”

“Good memory.”

“Good story.”

“Luckily, I didn’t kill him, but I left him with a huge scar.”

“That’s good, I guess.” I grabbed a beer bottle and drank.

He tilted his head toward the bar. “He was a Smoking Gun.”

“Oh, shit. Is that him?”

“I don’t think so. But the Smoking Guns are also the club that carved up Finger when he was a prospect.”

My stomach tumbled. “You going to drink your tequila?”

“No.” He slid his glass to me, his face drawn.

I knocked the liquor back, and the heat of the alcohol spread through my insides, quelling the riot there and inciting a new one.

Butler’s face remained tight, grim. He was assessing.

I’d been kissed by danger, blood, and sudden threats, and all the while, I’d been under the shield of Butler’s crazy cool.

He leaned into me. “We should go find a motel.”

I choked on the fire in the back of my throat. “Wh-what?”

“A motel. There aren’t that many around here, and I just hope we can find one with rooms available.”

“Oh, right.” My stomach clenched. “Good point.”

A waitress placed two dishes of chocolate cheesecake drizzled with caramel sauce on the table.

“Can we dig into this first?” I asked.

“You got a thing for chocolate, huh?”

I slid a spoon into the wedge of lusciousness before me. “Chocolate is my answer for all of life’s little ups and downs.”

“WE HAVE ONLY ONE ROOM LEFT
with a king-size bed.”

“One bed?” I asked.

The motel clerk shot me a look from behind his computer monitor. “Yes, one bed.”

The first motel had no vacancies.

This motel had only one room available with
one
bed.

“Since when has South Dakota become such a hotbed of tourism?” I asked.

“It’s still Sturgis season, ma’am,” replied the clerk.

“Sturgis is all the way across the state, and the rally was last month!” I said.

“Be that as it may, people are still here, road-tripping from all over the country and Canada to see the sights in our great state.” His eyes darted to Butler, then me, and then Butler again. “Will you be taking the room?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You sure?” asked Butler.

“It’s fine. I need to get lateral and soon. I’m sure you’re exhausted. All I ask is that you don’t smoke in the room.”

“No problem. We’ll take it,” he said to the clerk.

And I’ll take a few more tequilas to knock myself out pronto.

Moments later, we were in the room, throwing our bags on the floor. The door clicked behind us, and my chest squeezed. The room wasn’t huge, but Butler was.

“You can have the bed. I’ll be fine on the floor,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The bed’s huge. Anyway, you don’t have to be concerned about my virginity or reputation.”