Page 5 of Emmy's Ride

Tank grunted. "Yeah, well, she ain’t club. We both know where this road leads if she starts kickin’ over the wrong rocks."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "That’s why I’m keeping her close. I let her believe she’s running the show, she won’t see me steering from behind."

He let out a humorless laugh. "You really think you can control her?"

Silence stretched between us. I didn’t answer because I knew the truth. He did too. I could watch her, tail her, throw every damn roadblock her way, but Emmy Carter was a force of nature. No one controlled a storm.

Tank eyed me, the tension almost palpable. "This ain’t just about Luke," he said, voice lower now.

I tapped my fingers against the desktop.

"You tell me I’m wrong," Tank continued. "Tell me this don’t have somethin’ to do with what you two had before."

My lips pressed together. Emmy wasn’t just some girl I used to fuck. She wasn’t just some memory I’d buried under whiskey and regret. She was mine before either of us knew what that meant. And then she left.

My mood soured. "It doesn’t matter what we had before. That was years ago."

Tank shook his head, unconvinced. "Ain’t just about the past, Prez. It’s about what she still is to you."

I looked away, staring at the spot on the wall where my cut hung on a hook. The Kings were my family. My responsibility. My life. There had never been room for anything else. Hadn’t I proven that when she walked away when I couldn’t give her more?

Tank didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, what’s the play? Luke didn’t just up and vanish. You and I both know that. We got enemies out there still licking their wounds from the last war we fought. You think this is about the club?"

"I don’t know yet, but someone wanted him gone. And until I know who, I’m gonna assume everyone’s a threat."

He nodded. "I’ll get the guys on high alert. Start checking in on our usual contacts, see if anyone’s heard something."

"Good. And keep in touch with Diesel. If anyone so much as looks sideways at Emmy, I wanna know about it."

He stood, but before he turned for the door, his gaze lingered. "You say it don’t matter anymore, but if that girl’s got your heart in a chokehold, you best figure your shit out before it’s too late."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with thoughts I’d rather drown in whiskey. I pushed out of my chair, grabbed the bottle sitting on the shelf, and poured myself a drink. The burn down my throat did nothing to chase away the past. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many women had come and gone, Emmy had always been the one.

She’d been a thorn in my side, a wildfire I couldn’t control, and the only damn person who ever made me feel like the world wasn’t just blood, betrayal, and club business.

I downed the rest of my whiskey, but it didn’t dull the memories that came rushing back.

The first time I saw her, really saw her, not just as Luke’s little sister, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Too young. Too wild. Too damn tempting even then.

She was standing outside the clubhouse, scuffed-up Chucks on her feet, torn jeans hugging long legs she didn’t even seem to realize she had. A worn-out band tee hung off one shoulder, exposing smooth golden skin, but it wasn’t her looks that caught my attention that day.

It was the fire in her eyes. That untamed, reckless energy that made her impossible to ignore.

She was mouthing off at one of the prospects, one under the misguided assumption that just because she was a teenage girl hanging around the club, she was an easy target. He never got the chance to finish whatever slick comment he was making before Emmy laid him out with a well-placed knee to the balls. Stupid ass didn’t know she belonged to Grit.

I’d been leaning against my bike at the time, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

"That all you got?" she’d taunted, standing over the poor bastard who was curled up in the dirt, groaning.

I’d chuckled to myself then shook my head.

It didn’t take long before she was everywhere—hanging around the garage, pushing her way into places she didn’t belong. Not as a club girl. Not as a damn groupie. She had too much pride for that.

No, Emmy was there because her brother, Luke, had been patched in as a second generation. Her father had also been a member until losing his life in a war between clubs when Emmy was younger.

Luke had the added responsibility of raising her when he wasn’t much more than a kid himself. And when Luke joined the Kings, Emmy got pulled into my world, whether anyone wanted her there or not. She was a rebellious teen who was too smart for her own good, and Grit had to keep an eye on her.

She was seventeen the first time she really saw me, though.

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