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She’d insisted on coming, not taking no for an answer, being his friend, a Mistress looking out for her sub. No matter that that was a weird dynamic outside the club, he felt it from her. He didn’t need it, but having a person in his corner here didn’t feel wrong or bad.
But he’d picked up her thread of tension. She was more than competent at navigating the unknown; God knew she’d proven that, was opening his eyes to it in ways he hadn’t recognized so deeply in her before all this had happened. However, just because she could handle things didn’t mean he shouldn’t step up, be right beside her to help with a new environment filled with strangers.
No one liked having to fight dragons alone, especially when plenty of times one had no choice in the matter.
Tiger guided them to a high-top table and peeled back the wrapper on the cupcake. When he offered to split it, Skye took a bite as he held it, her own hand coming up to clasp his wrist. A look of pleasure crossed her face.
“When I was a kid,” he told her, “the old ladies used to rent a VFW building to do a Sunday brunch for veterans and anybodywho needed a meal. $5 a plate for those who could afford it, and you could donate more to cover other people’s food.”
His dad and the older ranking members had known the benefit of promoting the folksy, romantic rebel outlaw view of biker gangs. Riding in parades, having picnics in the park, attending big motorcycle rallies. Places where people could gawk at the rough-looking folk, acting like any other family.
It was said 99% of bikers were law-abiding MC enthusiasts, not criminals. Outlaw clubs like the Fallen Angels took pride in calling themselves the 1%. One-percenters.
Yet a kid OD’ing from the drugs they helped distribute, dying in his bedroom in his own shit and vomit, found by his mom? That was the kind of image they sure as fuck didn’t promote. Taking out rival gang members and dumping the bodies, buying and selling illegal goods and guns to suppliers whose other business interests included human trafficking, arms dealing to FBI watchlist terrorist groups, and deeper, more crazy shit…
His dad had led them further down that path than the previous President. He’d said they weren’t directly involved with those groups, just doing “other” business with them. They weren’t responsible for end results. Colt hadn’t changed tracks since his death. Nicole was proof of it.
The folksy family stuff wasn’t fake, those good memories still capable of pulling at Tiger.The Godfatherwouldn’t have been much of a movie if it had only been about killing and crime, unlikable shitheads doing awful things. It was the family stuff in the middle of all that which kept a grip on the heart and memory of those born into it, and made normal folk believe they were all just the same.
They were. And they weren’t.
Skye’s hand was on his wrist. He pulled out of his head and pointed to her portion of the cupcake. She’d eaten half of it. “Good, right? If you’d brought a giant purse, we could havedumped a half dozen into it. We’d just have to keep the frosting from making a mess.”
In answer, she pulled the frosting off his untouched half in one layer. It was brittle on top and creamy beneath, reminding him of the scaled paint Evan had put on his body. That Skye had spread over his flesh.
She broke the frosting into pieces, putting one in her mouth before she offered him some. When he parted his lips obligingly, he enjoyed a subtle lick of her fingers. Her eyes had reflected an ongoing concern for him, but his tease brought gentle laughter to their dark depths. Her mouth even softened in that interested way when she was a little aroused by him. He wouldn’t mind getting the hell out of here and making her a lot aroused.
She held up the naked cupcake and pantomimed wrapping it up and putting it in an invisible purse. But now he wanted themwithfrosting, so he could lick it off her lips and other parts.
Her gaze sharpened, hand falling back to his arm at the same moment a much harder set of fingers bit into his other one.
Dampening his hypervigilance took deliberate effort, especially when he couldn’t hear anything coming at him. He thought he’d managed it, but an aggressive touch triggered an unavoidable reaction. He locked onto the offender’s wrist and twisted, wrenching free of the grip. When he recognized his brother, he stopped short of breaking anything. Or following it up with a face punch. When Tiger released him, in the same shift he stepped into Skye, forcing her back a step and putting himself in between her and Colt.
A good choice. Because as he faced his brother, the anger in Colt’s face, the electric tautness of his powerful body, reminded Tiger how dangerous Colt could be. Like anyone who lived in this world.
He’d been an idiot. Ros had been right to be concerned. Hell, Rose’s body language had telegraphed it. If she had tobring Aubrey, couldn’t stay in Disney World and say fuck this memorial event, she’d wanted to have an ally present as dangerous as Aubrey’s own father.
There was no “safe” here.
Tiger made a gesture at his side he intended Skye to see, an unspoken command to stay where she was. He didn’t order Mistresses around as a general rule, but he’d turn into a goddamn Dom himself if needed to keep her safe.
Fortunately, once he got that squared and focused on his brother, he saw in Colt’s face what he’d seen in Rose’s. A different version, but the same roots. Pain and anger, grief and sleepless nights, a man’s ragged-ass soul torn down the middle, the poison of his life eating it up.
Tiger had his mother’s facial structure, such that he sometimes saw her ghost in his reflection. His brother’s face looked more like their father. Squarish features, good looking in a brutally charismatic way. His hair, shoulder-length, framed a bearded face. His eyes had the fixed look possessed by everyone who’d seen too much bad shit. Tiger had gotten far enough away to bury it in a shallow grave, but it could excavate itself pretty damn fast, so he and his brother probably had matching expressions at the moment. Both men had inherited their father’s size and breadth, which meant the people closest to them had quieted, infusing the air around them with heated tension.
His brother stabbed his chest with an angry finger. Tiger caught Nicole’s name on Colt’s lips, the word “never.” Plus enough conjugations of the word “fuck” to spray him with saliva.
The gist was obvious. Why the fuck was Tiger here, the man who should have stopped it, should have protected Colt’s wife from dying, his daughter from losing her mother? What kind of fucking pussy let her get shot and bleed out in the fucking parking lot?
He'd accept all that as his due, but at the escalation of heat, his own barely banked rage flared high. He wasn’t going to let his brother off the hook. “MCs don’t come after families like this,” Tiger interrupted him. “Who did you get involved with?”
Colt’s expression hardened. “Not your business. Is it?”
Tiger got the first three words, enough to curl a lip and fire back. “It is when your wife dies in my arms.”
Skye thrust herself between them. Before he could grab for her, she’d shoved Colt back, startling both men. She thrust her phone at him. Whatever came out of the voice app had Colt staring at her. Then his gaze shifted to Tiger. Confusion and shock were there, but they didn’t dilute the anger.
She’d told him. Maybe Colt would be smart and walk away. Tiger wasn’t counting on it. What was worse, he almost didn’t want him to. Fuck four-count breathing. He wouldn’t mind crunching his brother’s face into pieces on the edge of that bar.
