Page 136 of Dirty Salvation

With irritation dogging his step, boots heavy and loud he whistled over to Pretty-boy.

“Get to my house, sit on Zara until I can get there. Jed, you wanna call your old lady in, and make the calls we got a lockdown in effect immediately.“

“I’m on it, son.”

“Riding now, Prez.”

His first thought had been Zara, home alone, probably five deep into her Disney marathon, his girl was a freak for those things, sweet as fuck, but now alone with that madman nearer than Rider or any of his men had thought. Maybe he was overthinking it, Hades never did have much smart stuff between his ears, or maybe he was grasping suddenly Hades' agenda all along if he’d been this close this entire time, watching, observing who was coming and going from the compound. He would have seen Zara at some point.

Was she his plan or was it sticking it to Rider? either way, Hades would use Zara to get back at him. He needed eyes on his girl right now.

More than two hours later, after an emergency meeting held behind the private doors of their church, Rider took the fateful news to Jonah’s mom, held the woman while she sobbed her heart out. She knew the life her boy had signed up for, but it didn’t make it any easier, you never think death will come to your door until it’s outside ringing the bell, and some of that anger bled out onto Rider, he took it all holding her to his chest, giving what assurance he could. It meant nothing really, her son was dead and not coming back.

He was at his house an hour after that, almost dawn, sending Pretty-boy back to the clubhouse, Zara had run to him immediately, dressed in her simple pink pyjamas and Disney socks, her hair scraped back, sadness on her naked face, and only as she clung to him, shedding tears for a man she’d only met a short while ago did Rider feel the grief rush into his chest, filling him with anger but loss as well. He held his girl, soothed her as best he could but again he was pretty fucking useless at the right words, he pulled back, rested his forehead on hers, cupping her face so he could brush the tears away with his thumbs.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

Him. No need to clarify.

“More than likely.” He wouldn’t give the details of how Tiny was found, his girl didn’t need that in her head. It was bad enough she was shaking right back at square one of her fear. “Go get dressed, baby. We have a lockdown at the club until I can sort this out.”

Instead of barraging him with a million questions as anyone would, god …hisgirl.… she kissed him softly and told him she would hurry. Rider sighed dragging a hand over his weary face, feeling defeated for the club’s loss, waiting by the door for his old lady, he had to figure a solution to this goddamn mess.

They were on his bike ten minutes later.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night for anyone. That old bitch death had come to his place uninvited treading her devastating muddy footprints all over and it had left aches in everyone’s breast. He finally fell into bed around nine that morning, eyes gritty, his temples pounding, the clubhouse was still, silent, doors closed, his men turning in as well, nothing much more they could do for a few hours. In that twin bed, Zara propped on her side in one of his black shirts, it pooled around her knees. He didn’t want this to set her back, to send her behind all the fucking walls and have her hiding under her rock again, not when they’d come so far.

But she surprised the hell out of him. Facing her, he tangled a hand into her hair needing that connection to something good. She reached out and cupped his jaw, she always enjoyed his beard, her thumb moved slowly.

“Your MC is strong, Rider, and will withstand this as I know you all can like that formidable team you all are together, as I’ve seen with my own eyes, no one is closer than you guys. It’s going to hurt like hell for a long time, no one will ever forget Tiny, but you will redress his death. For Tiny, for the boys and for you. Everyone has faith in you. I have faith in you.”

“Shit. Zara ... baby.” How amazing was this woman?

“You are the president of the Renegade Souls. But more than that, you are RiderfuckingMarinos, no punk-bitch like Hades will do this to your club and walk away scot-free. Asshole doesn’t even know what he just did. You’ll see to it, your boys know it, we all believe in you. I believe in you so much, Rider.”

“Baby. Come here.” she was already there, the bed was smaller than a postage stamp, still he drew her over his chest, rolled until she was fully under him and he was looking down at her. So beautiful. Incredibly giving, and she’d just shown him a full picture of her heart.

Through all this anguish and bloodshed, he’d remember this moment right here for the gift she’d just handed to him.

“That means a lot. So fuckin’ much.” He kissed sweetness. “I need inside you. Don’t think I got the energy to fuck you how I want, baby. But god, I swear I just need to be deep, deep in you right now.” like she understood that need he had clawing at his chest, she smiled up at him and widened her legs making room for him to drop into the cradle of her thighs, arms going around his shoulders pulling him down, she was bare beneath his shirt and he coasted his hands up her thighs, urging them open to press against the bed so she was fully exposed, lovely wet and pink, and only then did he position his cock, groaning when wetness greeted him home and he fed into that heat inch by long inch until he seated deep.

Zara cuddled skinny arms around him, he pushed his face into the side of her neck, leaning to the left a little so he didn’t crush her.

And just like that, wrapped in his old lady’s comfort, his cock caressed in tight and wet, they fell into a grief ladened sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Hot damn, does the Queen have a sister just as feisty?” – Preacher

It was utter chaos inside the clubhouse, understandable chaos yet the deafening decibels were bouncing off every surface like a steel drum, that’s what a lockdown for less than twenty-four hours was doing to men who were highly wound over the senseless and brutal murder of one of their own.

And about that, Zara discovered earlier while she’d inhaled her first cup of coffee of the day like a religious experience curled around the white porcelain cup, that Rider, nor Tiny’s family, would be involving the law in his murder, there would be no investigation or sentence handed down by a judge in power, not any legal sentence anyhow, the MC had connections everywhere, one such connection being a funeral home that even now were taking care of Tiny in the best possible way. No one would ever know Tiny died in suspicious circumstances. No cops meant it was Rider and his brothers in arms who would dole out the punishment for this, the Renegade Soul boys were judge jury and the devil himself.

No bad deed goes unpunished, especially against one of Rider’s men.

Confused, she’d questioned him at first about it, it was murder, justice for Tiny. Maybe she hadn’t been with the MC for long, she couldn’t grasp their laws and ways, she didn’t want Rider getting hurt or worse, she’d happily pass this along to the police, let them deal with Hades, she’d divulge her shame and torture if it meant Rider was safe. In his frame of mind right now he was dangerous, reckless.

Rather than being angry with her questioning his methods, he’d slipped the t-shirt over his head, followed by his cut, took her coffee cup from her, downed what was left, dropped a kiss to her forehead and told her MC business was dealt in-house, no cops, ever. She didn’t have to like it to understand. Her biker man was a force to be reckoned with. She'd trust he knew what he was doing and would take care of himself.

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