Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) (25 page)

“Motherfuckers.” Ram didn't know what else to say. “Mother
fuckers
.”

If they hadn't covered it up...if it had been clear from the beginning, then Theo would never have gone after Ram. Mikhail would still be alive.

But he was dead—Mikhail was dead because Acero was a scum fucking rat that deserved to be crucified upside down.

“Here's my point, said Beretta. “My proposal. If the Flags are working with the cops, then both sides are too fucking corrupt to exist. I want to take them down and I want the help of the Wrecking Crew. If that gets done, then the Crew and the Flags can set up an alliance, split up the town between the two of us. We'll give you access to our contacts south of the border, and everybody profits.”

“That doesn't sound like a bad plan,” said Ram. “But I can't do shit about it. They've pushed me out. I beat a cop half-to-death. They want nothing to do with me.”

“How the fuck did you end up doing that?”

Quickly he summed up the story—of June, of the charade, of the marriage, of the assault and Mikhail's death.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Beretta. “Mikhail was a good man.”

“What the fuck would you know about it?”

Beretta looked hurt. The scar across his cheek tightened. “I was his friend too, Ram, for a little while. I don't make a big fucking deal about it, okay? But when you pushed me out when I lost my old lady—when she
died
in my arms, not yours—you made me lose all the other friends I had in the world too.”

“She got into that junk 'cause of you,” said Ram. “I didn't want you to have a single fucking thing in this world. Friends, life, nothing. You're lucky your social circle is all I took.”

Beretta stood up. “This is going nowhere. I thought you could help me out. It's clear you can't. We got nothing to talk about except digging up graves, and I'm no fucking gravedigger, Ram. You should go.”

Shame, hot and heavy, filled Ram. He suddenly didn't feel like he had the patience for this feud with Beretta anymore. Not after just sitting and talking with him. But it was hard to admit, hard to confront—how much time could have been saved, how much pain and anguish, by just a few simple conversations.

Ram could see the pain on the man's face when he brought up his sister, his drug usage. That was a different kind of man than he used to be, that was clear. The old Beretta would have fought with Ram at about seven different points in this conversation so far. This Beretta was patient, calculating, open.

“Would you tell me something?” said Ram.

“Sure.”

“Why me? You could have picked anyone to tell this. Probably people without all our shit history.”

“I guess so,” said Beretta. “The thing is, even with all that, there's nobody I know who I've got better history with either. I guess I hoped maybe given the circumstances, some of that good would outweigh the bad.”

It wasn't a terrible thought. An optimistic thought. Outside of what had been blossoming with June, Ram had a hard time recalling an optimistic thought he'd had for his life as an outlaw.

A memory floated up through his brain, sparked by the coffee. He remembered sitting down in his small house with Beretta and Madeline, the two of them holding hands and letting Ram know they were dating. Asking, in a way, for his blessing—though of course they weren't really. The way they had loved each other, whether Ram had said okay or not was inconsequential.

But of course he'd thought it was the best thing that could have happened to him at the time. His sister—the woman he looked up to more than any other—was in love with his best friend? Hell. That sounded like a good deal to him. They'd be stuck with him for life; nobody going anywhere, a reassurance that no matter what, Ram would have family that would stick by him.

It was more assurance than he'd ever had in his life.

He still wasn't raging at Beretta, though he still could feel that same part of him trying to be. But more of him wondered how much he actually wanted to
be
angry with Beretta; how much he wanted to carry on this vendetta.

Nothing he could do to Beretta would bring Madeline back. And nothing Beretta could do would bring her back either. The two of them were stuck together, on the outside of the outsiders, whether they liked it or not.

Maybe Beretta had already figured that out.

“What are you gonna do?” Ram asked.

“I don't know.” Beretta stood up and looked out the window. Very suddenly he looked quite tired. “I'll figure something out. But I ain't resting in with no fucking rats, I'll tell you that.”

Ram nodded. “Well. I don't like that either. And I sure as shit don't like that fucker Colt. You come up with a plan...let me know. I'll keep the grave digging shovels at home.”

––––––––

I
t was June’s idea to meet at her house.

They arranged it via texts. Her parents were gone—her father at the station, and her mother somewhere out in the town visiting Theo's family and associates. The duties never ceased for either of them.

Ram entered and June led him past the hallway and into Colt's office, shutting the doors behind her.

“If anyone comes home,” she explained, pointing, “the window there is the easiest way to get back onto the street without anyone seeing.”

He had parked behind her house in a dirt road, far from the well-lit streets of the suburban neighborhood.

It wasn't lost on him that he was a wanted man. If the cops saw him, he'd be taken out in a snap. Probably they wouldn't even bother to arrest him. There was no gang like the cops, and they looked after their own, even if it was after the fact.

The inside of John Colt’s office was not lavish or ornate, but anyone with an eye could tell that the furnishings were expensive. His desk was solid oak, probably one whole piece of some great tree carved down to size. It looked freshly polished. The rug beneath them was made from the pelt of a mountain lion. On the wall there was an original map of the Texas area drawn by Spanish cartographers in 1796. A great number of steel filing cabinets circled against the walls, gathered like ancient men with stones in front of a whore.

They stood across from each other in the dark, shadows playing over their faces.

God, she was pretty even in the darkness. He had trouble getting over how pretty she was every time he saw her. Her face lit up his whole soul. He wanted to hold her tight, to bring her against his body, but he had no idea if she would let him. He had a feeling if he tried to touch her now she’d pull out one of what was probably several hidden guns in her dad’s office and blow him away.

“So,” she said. Her arms were crossed, her eyes dark. “We’re here, then. What do you want to talk about?”

There was an edge behind her voice, something sharp and dangerous. He'd have to tread carefully.

“How’s Theo?”

“He’s alive.”

Ram made a sound, not sure how he felt about that. The truth was that he would prefer the man dead for what he had done to Mikhail. But if he lived, then that was a bit of sunshine. They couldn’t pull him in on a murder charge. The heat would die down a little quicker, though not by much.

Even as a drunk cop, Theo was still a cop, and sooner or later he'd have to face the consequences for beating him.

“You don’t seem pleased about not killing my cousin.”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “You know it’s complicated.”

“You wanted to talk.” Her bottom lip trembled slightly. “I hoped that maybe part of that talk was an apology for hurting someone in my family.”

He was wrong. There was raw emotion behind her voice, not an edge. She was on the brink of exploding. He only wished he wasn't either.

Instead of answering, he grunted unintelligibly, not sure how to answer. He was bad at apologies. He always had been.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” She threw up her hands. “You know what? This is all fucked.”

Surprise hit him at the profanity she threw out.
Wild Girl
. She paced from one end of the room to the other, holding her arms under her breasts.

“Yeah, it’s all fucked,” she said again. “You wanted me to pretend to be your old lady so you can stay in your gang. Well, your gang wants you gone, right? And I wanted you to be my husband, Jesus Christ, what was I
thinking
with that, I wanted you to be
that
because I wanted my parents off my back. Well, good news, they’re ready to disown me. My dad keeps saying he’ll throw me in an insane asylum, and I don’t know how serious he is about that but I know he can do it if he wants. And to top it off,” her laugh was almost manic, “to top it off,
you're
too much of an asshole to even say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, then,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sorry I 'm mad that my friend was murdered. I’m sorry I wanted to be part of something in this town. I’m sorry I married you. I’m sorry I ever
met
you, okay? So now you can stop your little tour of the seedy side and go piss off your Dad a different way, how about that?”

His voice rang across the empty house for several seconds. They looked away from each other. Ram felt cloaked in shame—shame from those words, from everything. There didn’t seem to be any way to put any of this right. Everyone wanted him gone or dead, and he didn’t think they were wrong.

“You should go,” she said, stepping toward the door. “This was a mistake, bringing you here.” She sighed, her stance shifting this way and that as she pulled on the handle. Now that all that emotion had found a release, she seemed relieved. A little swiveling on the pressure valve to bring her back to normal. “I wish you luck, Ram. But don’t...I mean, just stay alive, okay? You’re better that way.”

She
wanted him alive.

June wanted him alive. Wasn’t that something? After all this. She could write him out of her life anytime she wanted. There was more than enough reason to have their marriage annulled anytime, and her father could make it happen in a heartbeat.

And if Ram was killed, well, too easy. She’d be a widow, and the world always took it easy on widows. Especially the young ones.

“I am sorry,” he said, watching her leave the office. “I do apologize. To you. I do.”

She stopped, turning slowly.

“For what?”

“For all of it. It all...I think this whole mess has been my fault. Mikhail’s death. The death of that cop. I didn’t do it directly, but I was involved. I had my part. And Theo, Christ. You said he’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s good.” He let out a breath. “That’s real good. I don’t want to kill...anybody. Not really. Least of all someone in your family.”

“Maybe my dad? A little bit?”

She was joking now, that was good. He was gaining back ground.

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll leave that to you. You sound like you have plans drawn out half the time.”

Her mouth shrugged inward. “Not a bad idea to start, now that you mention it.”

“It was dumb to say you're just trying to piss off your Dad, June. At least I hope you're not. I guess I'm scared that you are.”

“I am,” she said. “A little. But it's more than that.”

“Good.” He stepped closer to her. She didn't step away, and his heart leapt. “Because it was dumb to say I didn’t want you in my life. That's the dumbest thing I've said in a long time, and it's got some high competition. You’re special to me, June. You’re important. I really am glad, June, that I met you.”

He came forward to her now all the way, putting his hands on her shoulders. God, she felt good. His wild girl. That temper, that fierce intelligence in her eyes. He wanted every part of her—wanted to light up her body again with his own.

“I am too,” she said. “I just don’t know what it means. I don’t think it’s something that was meant to be.”

“That’s only true if we let it be true.”

She collapsed against him, pushing deep into his bulk. He held her tight, as tight as she could, so tight that she squealed a bit and he had to loosen.

“I should go,” she said, pushing back. “Before we do something dumb. Again.”

“What if I want to do something dumb?”

He kissed her, and she did not stop him. She leaned in to the kiss, their lips meeting hotly, and he felt the heavy stirrings of passion between his legs. His cock stiffened almost immediately, needing her, feeling the immediacy of their situation.

“June,” he said, taking her against his body. “June, I need you. I can’t lose you too.”

“Ram...”

“And don’t,” he shook his finger. “Don’t say it’s all pretend. Don’t say it doesn’t mean anything. Because it means something to me and it should mean something to you too. Doesn’t it?” His face became searching. “Doesn’t it?”

For a moment it felt like she wouldn't answer. Like she would leave him there, alone to wonder for the rest of his life what might have been. That would be even worse than telling him no. As she drew in her breath, it felt like time stopped for him.

“...yes. It does, Ram. I don’t want it to be pretend anymore. I’m not sure how much I ever wanted it to be.”

He kissed her, hard and full of passion. Tongues slipped together, her taste entering his mouth once more, and all felt right in the world. His hardness pressed with eager need against his leg and he wanted to feel himself inside of her once more.

This all felt hurried, rushed, and Ram didn't care. Passion overtook him, his pants starting to slip down. He brought out an arm to steady himself—but in the midst of his need he struck hard against the filing cabinet over June's head. It tumbled into the next, and then that one into the next, a steady domino effect pushing each cabinet past the other.

“Oh shit,” said June, pulling herself up from underneath him. “Shit, shit.”

She got up to inspect the damage done. No doubt her dad was a stickler for his whole office being in order—and Ram had just fucked that up.

His boner pushed insistently at the tight confines of his underwear, sending hot shivers of pleasure up and down his spine as he watched June's gorgeous body move in front of him—but he stuffed it back in his pants nonetheless.