(A Dark Bad Boy Romance #1) Slash - Ella Wolfe

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental. SLASH: The Battleborn MC copyright 2017 by Ella Wolfe. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Thank You from the Author Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44

Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48

Thank You from the Author Dear Readers, Thank you so much! I am overwhelmed by the amount of love and support I’ve received from friends and fans, and I’m so excited to finally be publishing my debut novel – SLASH: Battleborn MC. The following story is the result of a lifelong love affair with romance, bad boys, and motorcycles, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you notice anything you’d like to share with me, whether that’s a typo or a favorite quote or anything at all, then please feel free to email me or reach out via Facebook. And finally, one more time – thank you. -Ella Wolfe

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Chapter 1 Slash The day had started off like any other day for Slash. He woke up early, exercised, made coffee for the clubhouse, and got ready for work. The air outside was crisp, with a hint of the changing season, like there were new beginnings just around the corner. Spring had come, and had brought with it warm afternoons. At least, that's how the morning felt to him as he rode his big chopper down to the business he owned and managed with the rest of the Battleborn Motorcycle Club. He rode through the center of town, the little burg still rubbing the sleep from its eyes and the sun not even peaking over the horizon yet, and pulled his rumbling bike into the parking lot. He parked at the back in a special “Bikes Only” zone they'd painted out on the black asphalt. Most of the guys that worked there rode their motorcycles to work, too, but they still had to make sure the customers had plenty of space for their cars. That was just good business practice, as far as Slash was concerned. Not only was Slash president of the Battleborn, he was also the head chef for Fresh B & B, a local diner that specialized in organic, localvore dishes. The small diner was the kind of place that had farm fresh eggs in the omelets, fair-trade coffee filling the French press, heirloom tomatoes adorning the chef salad, and prison tattoos on all the waiters and kitchen staff. All the guys that worked there were members of the MC. A lot of them were ex-cons, too. The club looked after its own, after all. If you went in, did your time, and kept your mouth shut, your old life would be waiting for you when you got back out. Your family would be supported, and so would you. Slash hadn't done any time. He'd managed to scrape by with no convictions, no matter how hard the district attorney tried to pin something on him. To some in law enforcement, the Battleborns were seen as public enemy number one. Lately, though, things had begun to die down as they moved into more legitimate work, like at B & B. Slash grabbed the carrying case for his chef knives from his saddle bag and headed up to the front door of the small diner. He fished for his keys and unlocked the front and let himself into the eating area with all its stacked tables and chairs, then headed back into the kitchen. The rest of the guys would be along closer to opening, and they'd take care of the incidentals like taking down chairs and wiping off tables. He had too much work as it was. They were only open six days a week for breakfast and lunch, Tuesday through Sunday, but each morning's opening duties fell by default on Slash's shoulders. He didn't mind. Far from it, actually. He'd come to savor the first hour or so, when he was all alone just chopping vegetables and getting fresh sauces and soups going. Having a bit of solitary time, away from the hustle and bustle of the thriving clubhouse, was good for him. These shifts gave him his daily moment of silence, a space where he could focus on just work without any outside interruptions or distractions. Now, as the industrial lights flickered on overhead, Slash was taken aback the same way he always was. The shining kitchen, just waiting to be used, with all its shining steel and chrome, reminded him of a perfectly tuned bike. Every object had a purpose, a specific use that was almost beautiful in its simplicity. He set his knife case on one of the steel counters and went to wash up. It was time to get to work and get everything prepped.

Unfortunately, that was when the phone decided to ring. The contraption was an ancient rotary phone that one of the guys had updated to produce dial tones for the modern era, but had decided to leave behind the old-fashioned ringer. The telephone was clamoring to be answered, the little metal bell going crazy like a lunatic on the night of a full moon. Slash sighed. “For fuck's sake,” he muttered, the words feeling foreign in his mouth after a silent morning. “Really? This early?” He checked his watch. Just past four-thirty. Whoever was calling, they probably had an excuse for why they weren't coming in. Something about this was strange, though. Most of the time, they'd have just called his cell. He grabbed the phone down off the hook and pressed the receiver to his ear. “B & B, Slash speaking. How can I help you?” “This call will be recorded and monitored,” said the recording of a woman's voice on the other end of the line. Slash instantly knew why they weren't calling on his personal phone. You couldn't get collect calls to go through on a personal cell phone. Especially not from a jail. The man's voice continued for the next part in the same digital monotone as before, till it got to his buddy's name. “You have a collect call from ... Jerry Rich.” He knew that recording. He'd received calls just like this one more times than he could count. “Aw shit, Jerry,” Slash said as he leaned his head forward and rested it against the wall of the kitchen. This wasn't good. Jerry was a hell of a bad ass. He could slam down a bottle of Jack by himself, then throw bull's eyes with a bowie knife right after. He rode his bike like a madman, screwed whatever woman wasn't nailed down to a brother, and could fight with the best of them. That was his credo: ‘Fight first. Fuck later.’ He also happened to be the best line cook Slash had on staff at B & B Fresh. And his shift started in less than thirty minutes. Slash needed him, and needed him bad. The recording continued on in the woman's inhuman voice. “... an inmate at ...” Slash took a deep breath, wondering what kind of shit Jerry had gotten himself into this time. He was one of the good ones. Rather, he was one of the better ones, Slash smirked. None of them were good, but some of them were better at not getting busted. Over the years, they'd gotten even better at it, too. He took another deep breath, waited for the next line. “Will you accept the charges?” “Yes,” Slash replied, trying hard to contain his annoyance. “Slash?” Jerry's voice came on the line, his voice haggard and bedraggled. “That you, brother?”

“Yeah, it's me, Jerry,” Slash replied and sighed. “You holding up alright?” “You know it, brother. Just calling to let you know my arraignment ain't for a couple days, and I clearly ain't going to be in to work this morning.” Slash let the silence hang for a minute, waited for Jerry to fill the gap in himself. “Sorry for having to call out,” Jerry mumbled. To his credit, he did sound genuinely sorry for the inconvenience. Not that it mattered much, but it was the thought that count. “We'll hold the line,” Slash said. He had to bite back the questions he had. What had he done? Was the deed something that concerned the MC? Instead, he continued on like this was no big deal, and his line cook called in incarcerated every couple weeks or so. “I'll send one of the guys round and we'll get bail posted soon as we can.” “Thanks, man,” Jerry replied. Both men knew not to discuss the crime over the phone. Whatever the cops had arrested him on may have been bullshit charges, or he may have been guilty as sin. But, you didn't have talks like that over a line you knew was being monitored. Hell, you didn't have conversations like that over the phone. Period. That was the first rule of business. “Stay strong, brother,” Slash said and hung up first. Months had passed since one of the guys had gotten picked up on a charge. They’d beaten the courts, on that case. Mainly because the victim in the assault case dropped their charges after a little talk with Slash. But, that was beside the point, right now. First thing, they had to get the restaurant open for business. Secondly, they had to get Jerry out from behind bars. None of his crew deserved to spend any more than the absolute minimum in jail, no matter how badly they'd screwed him on shifts at the restaurant. Slash pulled his phone out and started to make his calls. He hoped his second in command, Tiny, had his phone turned up loud enough to hear through his drunken stupor. Otherwise it was going to be a long day. A long, shitty day. As he listened to Tiny's phone ring on the other end of the line, his gaze swept the room and landed on the bulletin board next to the big metal walk-in refrigerator where they stored all their prepped food. He'd pinned a wedding invitation to the cork board a few months back. An old flame of his from way back in high school, Lacey Cox, was getting married to Wayne Walker, Slash's former best friend. Why she'd sent one of the elaborate cards to him, even after all these years, Slash had no idea. But, now, after one look at that invitation, all those old feelings, those yearnings came back to him. He realized that the wedding was supposed to be today. Today of all days. He turned his gaze away and focused on the wall. Tiny's phone just kept ringing. Shit. Slash sighed. Even if he did get a hold of his second in command, this was already shaping up to be a brutal day.

Chapter 2 Lacey The sun shown in through the windows of the bride room, nestled at the back of the church. It was Lacey Cox's wedding day. She had no idea how she was going to go through with marrying the son of a bitch. What had she been thinking getting this far into everything? “Look up for me, honey,” said the makeup artist, an attractive young woman with a mascara brush daintily held in one hand who looked like something out of a ‘Riot Grrl’ magazine spread. She leaned forward and applied the mascara, sculpting Lacey's eyelashes up and out, thickening and elongating them. Done, the younger woman turned back to her makeup case and began rummaging for the next tool in her arsenal. Lacey took the opportunity to watch the light dance on the far wall, wishing she could be just like a ray of sunlight. Shooting out into the galaxy, and somewhere far, far away from here. Just, please, take me anywhere but here. “You look gorgeous,” her oldest friend and maid of honor Cheryl cooed from behind her. She looked stunning in her burgundy bridesmaid gown. She had slipped in a few moments prior, but hadn't said a word as the young makeup artist applied Lacey's makeup. Now, she came up behind Lacey and put her hands on her bare shoulders, squeezed softly. “You're going to look so beautiful up there, next to Wayne.” Lacey forced a smile. She didn't feel gorgeous or beautiful. Instead, she felt like a sucker, like someone who was just going along for the ride. She knew deep down that none of this was worth the fancy clothes, the nice car, or the beautiful apartment Wayne provided for her with his salary and trust fund. She was a woman kept in a gilded cage, a pretty pet he could keep on his arm and display for all his family friends and future political donors. She was arm candy, and every time she thought about it, she wanted to wretch. Cheryl's eyes glanced down, caught the look in Lacey's. “You feeling okay, hon?” Lacey closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just nervous, that's all,” she partially lied. She was nervous, that was true. But, she was also terrified. Her husband-to-be was Wayne Walker, the junior district attorney. His family went far back in this town, and he had connections everywhere. He was handsome, well connected, and well heeled. He had graduated top of his class at law school, and he had big plans for his future. And mine, she thought disdainfully. To her friends and family, he was a catch. Wayne was almost the perfect man, it seemed. He took care of all her financial needs, giving her an ample allowance and everything she could want. But, like all things, if a deal was too good to be true, it probably was. She almost spat the words out, just then: that Wayne had gotten physical with her. Had been getting physical with her for a while now. But, Lacey knew she'd just look like a fool for letting her confession spill out of her that way, especially after the years and years of torment he'd put her through. Why hadn't she told them sooner, they'd ask. Why had she agreed to marry him?

For years, she'd thought everything would just magically get better. That he'd eventually lose that punchy tendency of his, to enforce his words with his hands. Her situation had only gotten worse and worse as she'd slipped more and more under his control. And now, she didn't know how to get out from under his thumb. He wouldn't let her get a job, or have friends he didn't approve of. Yes, she had money, but she was questioned about every penny she spent. She'd thought about just running away, about hopping on a plane and taking off for some part of the country, never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe get a passport and flee the country. But how would she live? She hadn't had a job in years, and all her money was tied up in accounts he controlled. And, if Lacey ever said a word, deep down she knew what would happen to her. She felt it, without being able to describe how. He'd kill her. For that reason, she didn't even want to imagine what bringing children into that life would be like. She'd be even more in his clutches, then. And, knowing him, he'd use the children against her. He was just that kind of man: small, petty, sadistic. “You sure?” Cheryl asked again, concern in her voice. “Want me to get you a pop or something, to keep your blood sugar up?” No, she didn't want a pop. She wanted to fly away, sail upon the wind like a fallen leaf, and land somewhere, anywhere, just so long as her destination wasn't here. “Sure,” Lacey replied, instead, a fake smile on her lips, “that sounds great.” Cheryl bustled out of the room to go find her friend a drink. “Almost finished,” the makeup artist said. “Already had your hair stylist in, I see.” “Just before you,” Lacey replied. “In and out, and working on the rest of us, now.” “You know, I gotta say you're taking this really well.” “How so?” Lacey asked as the younger woman pulled out her setting spray. “Well, for one,” the makeup artist said as she shook the bottle, “you're a lot calmer than most of the brides I deal with. Most of them are flying off the handle, frantic about this being their perfect day.” “Well,” Lacey said, closing her eyes as the woman began to spray her face, “that's why we hired a wedding coordinator. Besides, this was more about what he wanted.” “Him?” the woman asked, giving a light chuckle. “That's kind of funny. Most guys I've dated could give two shits about this kind of thing. Hell, my boyfriend thinks we should just do it on the beach.” “What about you?” Lacey asked. “Me? I love weddings. Especially other people's! They pay my rent, after all.” She paused and grinned

before continuing. “Mine, though? Beach doesn't sound too shabby, if you ask me.” Lacey smiled. Years ago, back in high school, she'd known a man like that. The kind of guy who was down to earth, strong, caring, good with his hands. Sure, he'd been a little awkward but looking back, who wasn't at that age? She'd chosen Wayne, instead. He promised her a great future, the kind of life she knew growing up. With his family's money and his future career prospects, Lacey knew he could deliver on those promises. Not for the first time, she doubted the decision she'd made all those years ago. She didn't even know where he was, anymore. He could be dead for all she knew, or a thousand miles away. “Well, this is more to impress his family, and their friends than it is to make me happy,” Lacey confided. “If it were up to me, I'd get married by Elvis in a Vegas drive-thru.” The girl grinned and began to look over her handiwork. “Almost there,” she said. “Just a few more minutes, and we'll be able to get you in that dress.” Lacey smiled, grateful she could at least let slip her own views on the wedding, if not her complete fear of the future. That was one small thing she had, at least. One small protest. Not that it mattered.

Chapter 3 Slash The cops came for Big Jim in the middle of the lunch rush. And they didn't bother with being polite about the arrest, either. If anything, they went out of their way to cause a scene for all the diners in attendance. “Can we at least do this outside?” Big Jim asked, his voice as controlled as he could possibly get it. “We've got paying customers in here, officer.” He was next to one of his tables, pitcher of iced tea in hand. Their drinks just sat there, full of ice, and empty of refreshment. It was almost sad, really. Tiny had run in back and grabbed Slash from the kitchen. Now, he stood at the lunch counter in his dirty white chef coat, drying his hands with one of the towels, keeping an eye on everything. First Jerry, now this. He couldn't think of anything else that could go wrong today. Big Jim hadn't come by that nickname by chance. At six-six and weighing in at two-sixty, a name like that was kind of a given. He loomed over the cop, his massive build making the matchup with the averagely built officer look almost comical. If things got out of hand, it wasn't going to end well for the boy in blue. Jim had done his time in the big house, doing a stretch on possession with intent to distribute. He had been head of that little side venture for the Battleborn for years, and had done a good job. Like all the others, he'd kept his mouth shut and his head down. When he came back, they'd had a position open for him at Fresh B & B. Part of the deal when he came back to the MC, though, was that he kept his nose clean. No former associates outside the crew, and no involvement in the shadier affairs of the business. “You talking back to me, boy?” the officer asked, bowing up to the much larger biker. He had three other patrolmen backing him, their radios squawking and beeping the whole time. “I said I was placing you under arrest.” “No, I ain't talking back,” Big Jim replied, clearly exasperated. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “I'm just asking you if we can take this outside.” Slash knew that was his cue to step in. “Jim,” he said, coming out from behind the counter. “I'll take your table. Just go ahead with them, okay?” “Slash,” Jim boomed, his voice starting to rise, “I just want to know what's going on. I didn't do nothing wrong, man.” The officer checked out Slash, sizing him up. Slash recognized that look. The officer knew who he was, knew his position in the MC. He could practically see the calculations going on behind their eyes. “We'll figure it out after the officers do what they need to do,” Slash said, ignoring the patrolman and reaching out to take the pitcher of tea from Big Jim. “Alright? You ain't gonna win an argument with a cop.” Slash could feel the tensions running high. It was like working in a steaming kitchen with all the burners going, and the over door gaping open. And, with tensions this high, all it would take was a single spark.

Jim finally sighed, resigned to his fate. Hands now free, he put his wrists behind his back and turned around to offer his hands to the officer. “James Chandler, I'm placing you under arrest for violation of the conditions of your parole,” the officer began as he snapped the cuffs down over Big Jim's wrists. He continued on in a monotonous drone, one that he'd clearly honed over years and years on the job performing similar arrests. This was old hat to him, just like it was old hat for Slash to dice onions. Just like with Jerry, they all knew this game. They all knew to keep their mouths shut, especially when the cops were trying to pin something on them. Slash just narrowed his eyes as he watched the proceedings. Just like Jerry, too, this hadn't come at the most opportune of times. They were trying to go legit, trying to get out from under all this pressure from the cops. And now, twice in twenty-four hours, the boys in blue had come down on them. They began to frog-march Big Jim out through the front doors. “Don't get too comfortable, boys,” said one of the cops back over his shoulder, his tone light and humorous. “New assistant DA says he's got y'all's number.” “New DA, huh?” Slash said to his back. “What's this new guy's name?” “Wayne Walker,” the cop said. Just before he let the door slam shut behind him, he turned back and looked Slash straight in the eyes. “Y'all folks have a nice day now, ya hear?” Wayne Walker. He felt his blood go cold. The same man who'd ruined things with him and Lacey. Slash's former best friend. Slash's hands clenched into fists, and his jaw clenched tight. What kind of sick joke was this? Did he want to take everything from him now? He watched through the big glass windows as the cops ducked Big Jim into the back of one of their squad cars. Soon, the disturbance was nearly forgotten, and the restaurant returned to its normal hustle and bustle. Minus one six-foot-six waiter, of course. The patrons barely even batted an eye. This was a restaurant run by a bunch of rough-and-tumble biker types, after all. As soon as the cops were gone, Slash disappeared in back. Tiny, his shaggy overweight second in command, followed after him. He looked in even more disarray than normal, his frizzy beard sticking out like every which way. He'd picked up the nickname years before, when he was about seventy-five pounds lighter. Like all nominal names, though, this one had stuck over time, and changing physical attributes. Sometimes, there were things that never changed, no matter how much they actually did. “Dude,” Tiny said as the swinging doors shut behind them, “what the fuck? First Jerry, now Big Jim? And what's with this Walker guy?” “I know him,” Slash said as he began to strip out of his chef coat. “He's an asshole, and apparently our new assistant DA.” “You know this guy?” Tiny asked, shock in his voice. He was clearly confused by the whole thing. “Yeah, I know the asshole,” Slash said as he tossed his coat aside and grabbed the wedding invitation down from the bulletin board. “We went to school together. Guess you could say we got history. Need you

to get on the phone with Big Jim's lawyer, and let 'em know what's going on, alright? If it's a parole violation, and it's for real, that means they're going to really try and turn the screws on him.” Slash went over and grabbed his leather jacket down from the peg where he'd hung it that morning. He pulled it on and headed for the door. “Wait,” Tiny said as he looked around the kitchen with a stunned expression. “Where the fuck you going, dude? You taking off or something? It's the fucking lunch rush, man. On a fucking Saturday!” Slash stopped in his tracks. “Got to, Tiny,” Slash said as he pushed through the double doors leading back out onto the floor. “There's a wedding I need to attend, and an asshole DA I gotta see.”

Chapter 4 Lacey Lacey glanced from her and Cheryl's reflection in the full-length mirror in front of her to the clock on the wall. Outside, in the actual church, she could hear the guests gathering and the musicians tuning their instruments. It wouldn't be long now, she knew. Her fate was about to be sealed. In here, they were surrounded by stray clothing and luggage bags. She hadn't shown up in her wedding dress, after all. It was too precious to just wear around. “You look so beautiful,” Cheryl said from beside her, her eyes almost beginning to tear up. “I'm so happy for you.” “I do, don't I?” Lacey asked, her thoughts sinking to a dark place. There was no denying what was plain as day. Admittedly, she did look beautiful in the gown she and Wayne had chosen, even with the ridiculously long train he'd insisted on. And, like with everything, whatever Wayne insisted on, he got. “It'll make more of a statement,” he'd said at the time. To her, though, the only statement the dress made was about how immobile she was while wearing it. How trapped she was, how trapped she'd allowed herself to become. It was like that train was everything wrong with her life, everything wrong with all the decisions she'd made up to this point. Trading comfort and poshness in one area for pain and torment in another. She realized, then, that she wanted her life back. But no one was simply going to give her free will back to her. She needed to take it. She needed to grab hold and pull it to her. “Are you ready for this?” Cheryl asked in her most cheery voice, snapping the bride back to reality by squeezing her bare shoulders. “Yeah,” Lacey replied with a weak smile, “I think so.” There was a knock at the door. “You almost ready in here, dear?” the wedding coordinator asked through the door. There was no hint of doubt in her voice, no expectation of impending disappointment. Poor woman. “Almost,” Cheryl called back, reassuring her. “We are, aren't we?” Lacey smiled as her eyes flickered over to one of the windows on the far wall, the one she'd been looking at earlier as she daydreamed about being a stray ray of sunshine. It was a fairly large picture window. Easily large enough for a grown woman to fit through. Even if she was wearing a wedding dress. “Just about,” Lacey said. “Can you give me a minute, though?” “Honey?” her dad called through the door. “Almost ready? The natives are getting restless, dear.”

“Just a minute, dad,” Lacey called back. “You still feeling bad?” Cheryl asked as she touched the back of her hand to Lacey's forehead. Lacey slapped her hand away, laughing as she did so. “I'm fine, silly. I just need a minute to ... I don't know, say goodbye to the single life?” Cheryl laughed. “Whatever,” she said as she leaned in and touched her cheek to her friend's. “Five minutes can't hurt, can it?” Her friend headed out into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind her. Lacey heard her on the other side of the door, soothing both the coordinator and her father. Thank god for Cheryl, and her help. Even if she didn't realize she was giving it. Finally alone, she sprang into action. She quickly removed the gown's unwieldy train and left the bundle of cloth in a crumpled mess on the floor. With that done, she grabbed her overnight bag off the chair she'd set it on earlier and began to throw any discarded clothes she could find inside of it. She hadn't packed much since they'd planned on going by the house before their so-called honeymoon. With her bag haphazardly packed, she went over to the big picture window and examined the frame. She could fit through easily. But her car wasn't here. Lacey had driven in with Cheryl. There wasn't much she could do about the vehicle situation at the moment but maybe if she could get away from the church grounds she could call an Uber and use that as her getaway. She chewed at her lip as she glanced from the window to the door and back again. The door to the hallway didn't have a lock, unfortunately. Someone might hear her in the hall if she started to mess with the window. Lacey went over and grabbed the chair her overnight bag had been resting on and carefully pulled it over to the door. “Honey?” her dad called from out in the hall, startling her. “You alright in there?” “Yep, be right there,” Lacey said from just on the other side of the door from him. “Just one more second, okay?” She didn't necessarily enjoy lying to her dad, or relish the thought of what she was about to put him through, but she didn't see any other way forward. There was no way in hell she could marry Wayne, and if she told her father what she planned he'd probably just try to talk her out of walking out this way. And, just like always, he'd win his argument and she’d roll over and listen to her him. Instead, she wedged the back of the chair under the doorknob. It would be difficult for him to win the argument if he couldn't have a chance to make one. She grabbed her bag and headed over to the window as someone began to jiggle the doorknob. She lifted the window and tossed her luggage through. “Honey?” her dad called, his voice frantic. “Just tell me you're okay!”

“I'm okay, dad,” Lacey called, then silently. “Better than I've felt in years.” She lifted the window the rest of the way, letting in the bright, fresh spring air. A hint of roses hit her nose, setting off a flash of memories about her grandma's backyard gardens. She didn't even want to think what Granny Cox's opinion of her running off would have been, had she still been alive to give it. Luckily, the church staff hadn't thought to put a screen in on this window. Either they didn't have a problem with bugs getting in, or maybe they understood that a bride sometimes needed to escape while the getting was good. Lacey hoped it was the latter as she tossed her overnight bag out through the window and onto the well-manicured grass, then followed after her flying luggage. A loud tearing sound ripped through the still morning air. Shocked, she looked back and saw the hem of her dress caught on a nail sticking out of the windowsill. “Son of a bitch,” she grumbled. It had been a pretty dress, and expensive. Back in the bridal room, her dad was pounding on the door. “Lacey! Honey!” It tore her heart out to run away like this. She didn't want to consider how her mother would react when she heard the news. Or how poor Cheryl and her other bridesmaids would take these events. They'd invested almost as much time in this wedding as she had, put just as much effort into this thing. She felt bad for pulling the rug out from under them like this, but she didn't have a choice. And then, of course, there was her Wayne. What were the consequences of embarrassing him like this? Whatever the case, it couldn’t be much worse than what she’d already endured. Besides, she'd made up her mind. Her dress was ruined, and she was now on the marital lam. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. With her high heels still on, she took off across the church lawn and headed for a small path led through the trees and out to main road. The most important thing right now was to get away before anyone, especially Wayne, found her. Hopefully, she'd be able to figure things out from there. If not, she'd come up with something. She was determined, now.

Chapter 5 Slash Slash whipped down the road on his chopper. He ignored the speed limit signs as he stitched a line between the other vehicles, zigging and zagging in and out of traffic. Cars honked, but he didn't even bother to give them the finger. Besides, that would have meant taking his hand off the throttle. His knuckles were sore and white from how tightly he was gripping the handlebars. One name kept flashing in his mind like a giant bloody red neon sign: Wayne fucking Walker. The only son of a bitch he really had a problem with after so many years. He took a deep breath, though, and tried to control his anger. Beating the shit out of the new assistant DA on his wedding day wouldn't exactly be a great way to begin stating his case for why the Battleborn should be left alone, but Slash couldn't understand what the guy's deal was. They were trying to go completely legit, trying to divest all their less savory businesses and income streams. For the law to crack down on them now, when things were so sensitive, so in flux, was almost overly punitive, like something else was at work. It had to have something to do with their past, with the three of them: Slash, Lacey, and Wayne. Back in high school, the two young men had been a tight, if odd, pairing. Wayne had been on the student council and was the class president. Slash, back then, had been just another kid who'd lucked into a friendship with a richer kid. Even though they were from different sides of the track, so to speak, they'd had a tight bond. But, then along came Lacey. She'd been the new girl their senior year, a transfer student who'd come along when her dad's work relocated her family. Somehow, she'd fallen in with Slash and Wayne and their duo became a trio. For Slash, his friendship with Lacey was always something more. He'd been in love with her from the first day they'd met. Her smile, her easy laughter, her quiet, focused strength. He was drawn to her, longed for her. But Slash was an uncertain kid back then, scrawny and small, with no self-confidence. Times had changed, of course, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Wayne had felt the same way about her. He'd made his move first, before Slash could muster his courage. Seeing them together had gnawed at him until he'd finally confessed his feelings to Lacey. Things hadn't gone well from there, and when the dust settled and Slash's mind had cleared, she and Wayne were already gone. Off to college, and out of his life forever. At least, forever was what he'd thought. Now he didn't know what kind of feelings he had for her. He just knew he wanted her out of his head, and wanted Wayne Walker's meddling out of his dealings. The rest of the MC didn't deserve to be targets just because of some high school bullshit. That was asking too much of them. With all that swirling in his mind, he raced on, trying to beat the clock. He was just a few minutes away when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He downshifted and veered to the side of the road, a

symphony of car horns blaring in protest at his sudden stop. A beautiful bride in a flowing white gown was tramping through the trees. Mud crept up the hem of her dress and covered her heels, but her face was angelic. More than that, he recognized her almost instantly, and his blood seemed to stop in his veins. For years, he'd seen those beautiful eyes, those perfect lips, every time he closed his eyes at night. And, for just as many years, that face was the first thing he saw in his mind's eye when he woke up in the morning. It was her. Lacey Cox, coming out of the forest, walking away from the church. She wasn't more than twenty feet from him, but he could see the look of concern on her face plain as day. That same look she'd had in math class when she almost remembered how to do a problem, but couldn't quite get it. “Dustin?” she exclaimed, using the name his parents had given him. “Dustin Riley? Is that you?” Slash grinned. He hadn't seen her or heard her voice in years, and there was still something about her that lifted his spirits, made him feel like he was on cloud nine. “Lose your way, or something?” he asked as nonchalant as he could manage. “You're a biker now?” she asked, incredulous as she emphasized the word biker. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the traffic and the fact she was in a wedding dress as she stared at him. “And you wear leather?” “Like you've got any room to talk on weird outfits.” She hiked up the bag on her shoulder, readjusting the load, and looked down at herself. “Yeah, well, this is just for today.” He checked his watch like he didn't have a care in the world. “Don't you have some place to be right about now?” “Well, I did,” she said, and glanced back over her shoulder, almost like a scared animal on the run would. Something was wrong here. “Not doing it, then?” She shook her head. Slash sighed and looked away, down the road. “Wayne's gonna be pissed.” She shot daggers at him when he turned his gaze back to her. “That's the last thing I give a shit about,” she said. Something about her attitude, the way she held herself as she replied, said the exact opposite, though. She cared about his opinion, even if she didn't care about him. “Running away, then?” “Gonna try,” she said, a slow, uncertain smiling creeping onto her face. She seemed to hold her breath before saying, “Wanna help?” “Help out an old crush?” he asked, a little grin on his lips. “And piss off that motherfucker Wayne in the process?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!” He jerked his thumb behind him. “Jump on.” She sighed in clear relief and swung a leg over the seat behind him and climbed aboard. With her overnight bag tucked between them, she leaned forward and instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist. He hated to admit something like this, even to himself, but it felt damn good to feel her touch again. Even after all these years, and all the changes that had happened in their lives. Except, this time, it was different. He was different. “Ready back there?” he asked over his shoulder. “Yeah,” she said, “let's go.” They took off, heading back the way Slash had just come. The cars blared another symphony as he cut across traffic, this time hollering out a victory call.

Chapter 6 Slash They pulled into the Battleborn clubhouse's parking lot on Slash's bike. Lacey's wedding gown had fluttered behind them the whole way, even though she'd wrapped up all its extraneous cloth beneath her when she'd straddled the seat and climbed aboard. He hadn't been able to think of any better place to take her. And she hadn't been able to come up with any solutions either. So, by default, they'd settled on the clubhouse. It was far from perfect, that was for sure, but at least Wayne would never come looking here for her. Besides, he didn't have any plans of letting her out of his sight. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of leverage it might give him over Wayne, but he could spot an opportunity coming from a mile away. And this woman right here was an opportunity if he'd ever seen one. “This your place?” Lacey asked, a note of disbelief in her voice as she looked around at the trees on the perimeter, and the old metal building in front of her. Clearly, it was the kind of place she wasn't used to. “Yeah. Why?” She shouldered her bag again, hitching it up a little higher. “No reason,” she replied. “Just, well, isn't it weird living in a place like this?” “Nah,” he said, reaching for the bag on her shoulder. “It's home.” She glanced down at his hand, and the help he offered, and just shook her head. “I've got it.” “Suit yourself,” Slash said, then headed off to the front door of the clubhouse, resisting the urge to look back and see if she followed. “How many guys live here?” she asked as they pushed through the entry and went inside. “We got rooms for seven or eight guys, me included,” Slash replied as they headed back to the small room reserved for him. “We keep it pretty low-key most nights, though. Weekends, all bets are off. Still, it ain't like it used to be. We all gotta earn an honest living now.” Her face was a case study in wonder as she looked around at the empty building, at the flags up on the wall, the posters and the hunting trophies. All the others were gone still. The ones who worked at Fresh B & B were probably still in the middle of their closing duties, and a lot of the other guys had errands, jobs, girlfriends, and all manner of other reasons to be out and about. “Honest living, huh?” she asked as they turned down the hall that led to the rooms. “Absolutely,” Slash said with a grin. “You're looking at the head chef and manager for Fresh B & B.” “Wow! Really?” Lacey said, surprise in her voice. “I went in there once, but I didn't know you were the

owner. I thought it was some guy named Slick, or Gash, or something.” “Slash,” he said, grinning. “That'd be me. I was probably in the back house, making your brunch.” “Slash? All of you guys got nicknames like that?” “Most of us,” he said. He shrugged as they turned a corner and were presented with a whole new row of doors. “So, which do you prefer? Dustin? Or Slash?” “Slash,” he growled. “Might confuse the guys otherwise.” “You run the whole thing? The restaurant, I mean.” “Yep,” he said as they stopped in front of his bunk door. “What'd you think? About the food?” “Had the eggs Benedict,” she replied, her words clearly less reserved on this topic than they had been on the subject of her wedding. “It was pretty good, I guess.” “Pretty good,” Slash said as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, “you guess?” She rolled her eyes. “The hollandaise was a little lumpier than I prefer, okay?” Slashed grunted. He'd never been able to take criticism well. Especially not when it came to his cooking. He turned back around and pushed the door open, leading her into his room. “Welcome to my digs,” he said as he flipped the light on and showed her his place for the first time. It wasn't perfect, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it was still home. “Oh,” she said, glancing around the room at all the license plates he'd gotten from the various states he'd visited, the shot glasses from all the national parks he'd ridden through and camped at, his various books and bike repair guides. “At least it's clean.” He hadn't expected her to be impressed. It was a bachelor pad, after all. A one room bunk with an attached bathroom. It wasn't exactly a place to settle into, that was for sure. She turned to smile at him and slowly reached out to grab his hand. “Thank you, by the way.” She paused and licked her lips as she wrapped her slender, soft fingers around his big callused paw. “I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along when you did.” Her touch sent tingles through his hand, through his body. He cursed himself. Part of him knew he shouldn't be acting like this. He'd pushed her out of his mind years ago, had thought he'd finally gotten over her. He was harboring the assistant DA's fiancée. He needed to be smart about this. One wrong move, and his ass would be on the line. “Well,” he replied, carefully taking his hand away from hers, “we used to be best friends, right? And, clearly you don’t have anyone else, so here I am.”

Her smile drooped into a frown as he removed her hand from his, but in the next moment she appeared to shake the funk off. She took her bag off her shoulder and tossed it on the bed. She sat down next to her piece of luggage and looked down at herself, at her muddy wedding dress. Silence filled the room, suffocating him. “So,” Slash said after a long, uncomfortable moment. There was an elephant in the room, and they both knew it was there. “About this wedding escape?” “What about it?” she mumbled, her eyes still downcast. “What happened with the ceremony?” he asked, trying to pick his words carefully. “Why'd you leave Wayne at the altar?” She pressed her lips together and toyed with the fabric of her dress, her hands pulling at the ruined material. She'd always fidgeted like this when she was nervous. “Nothing, then?” he growled. He didn't have much patience for this kind of thing. Never had, probably never would, and it was one thing that had always created a distance between them. “No explanation?” More silence. “Suit yourself, I guess,” he finally said. She just looked up at him after he spoke and kind of shrugged. “Not much to say, really,” she said after a while and gave him a weak smile. “Just didn't want to marry him, I guess.” He slowly nodded his head. “Well, alright then,” he said. He could push and pry all day long if he wanted, but if this Lacey Cox was anything like the Lacey Cox he'd known all those years ago, she wasn't going to budge if she didn't want to. And, clearly, she didn't want to. Outside, the noise of multiple bikes began to fill the lot and the surrounding area. It was about that time, Slash figured, for the guys to be coming back after closing up at the diner. He raised a calming hand as she looked around, almost a little frantically. “It's cool,” he said. “It's just the guys getting back. Nothing serious.” “Oh,” she said, calming a little. “What are they going to say about me being here?” It was his turn to shrug. “Dunno. I'm the president, though, so I've got more than a little say on whether or not you stick around.” “The president?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she gave a little laugh. “You're the head of these guys?” Slash grinned. “Yep. Been top dog for a couple years now.”

“So, you think they'll let me lay low here for a while?” “Ain't gonna know until I put it to a vote.” Truthfully, he wasn't sure of what their initial reaction would be. He still hadn't told her about Wayne coming after the MC, putting their guys in jail, or any of the Battleborn's other plans. And, for now, things were going to stay that way. He didn't want her to think she was just being used, even if that’s what it looked like. He realized now, as he stood in the same room with her, that he did have feelings for her. Latent, deep, almost below his consciousness, but there nonetheless. He hadn't gotten rid of them, he'd just buried them down deep enough to forget about them. He frowned. Some of the guys might want to play it safe, and keep clear of her because of her relationship with Wayne. They wouldn't want to stir that pot. But, deep down he knew something wasn't right about this, about the way she'd just left him at the altar. Sure, the guy had been kind of a dick before, when they were back in high school. But, the two of them been together all this time. She wouldn't have left him without good reason. Regardless of the outcome, he needed to convince the rest of the Battleborn of his plan, and Lacey was at the heart of it. Otherwise, they'd think he was just asking them to stick their necks out to protect an old flame of his, and he couldn't ask something like that of them. Not even under better circumstances. “No idea, then?” Slash shrugged and gave her his best poker face. “Better get to it. You stay here and get settled.” “Yeah,” she replied. “I'll get changed and stuff.” He nodded and excused himself from the room. He made sure the door was closed completely behind him and headed out to the living area. The guys were already hooting, hollering, and cracking beers. They were off work, after all.

Chapter 7 Lacey Lacey stayed on Dustin's bed ... wait ... no. She'd have to keep reminding herself that he wasn't Dustin Riley anymore. He was Slash, now. Which, if she was going to be honest with herself, fit him a lot better. Especially after how he'd changed. Back in high school he'd been a string bean, the type of guy who was held together by just bones, strips of sinew, and a prayer. Now, though ... Goddamn, what a transformation! She stifled a giggle as she thought about it. She'd been able to feel his rippling abs beneath his shirt as she held onto the back of his bike. She pictures his arms flexing on the handlebars. Of course, he wasn't a bad looking guy before. He'd always had a strong chin, with a great jaw line. She could almost imagine those arms of his, holding her close, holding her tightly. He was strong, stronger than Wayne, she was sure. Deep down, she could see a hidden tenderness beneath all his tattoos and scars. It was in the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lingered on her. Did he still have feelings for her? Like he had back then? God, she couldn't believe she was actually thinking this way. She'd just left her fiancée at the altar and thrown her old life away. Instead of thinking of her next move, she was thinking of another man, and how his body would feel pressed against hers. She shook her head, clearing the steamy thoughts of her old high school friend from her mind. There was a time and place for that kind of thing, and it wasn't here. Dustin ... Slash at least seemed hopeful the rest of the guys would let her stay. That was a start, at least, a jumping off point. She sighed and looked around the room. Yeah, the little place was a bachelor pad. There was nothing feminine about this place, no woman's touch. She grabbed her overnight bag off the bed and got up to go into the restroom. She stripped out of her wedding dress and began to change back into the jeans and top she'd worn earlier in the day. As she did, she began to consider her options, mentally lay out what was available to her. If Wayne hadn't frozen her accounts out of spite, he'd be checking on any kind of purchases she made. He had the passwords on those, had all the control. Which meant she'd be depending on Slash for support and shelter. That might work, but she hated the idea of relying on him, even after everything. Lacey dug her phone out of her bag. She'd put the ringer on silent as she'd trampled through the forest, ruining her dress and shoes. The ringing had been so incessant, so irritating. She couldn't bear to turn it off and have her father’s voice go to voicemail. In this day and age, there just seemed something so

undignified about that, so disrespectful. It was like ghosting on someone you were dating. She just couldn't do it. Of course, she realized, that was what she'd just done. Even if it had been out of desperation. Twenty missed calls, all from the usual suspects. Ten from her father, also on behalf of her mother, Lacey was sure. Nine from Cheryl, of course. Just one from Wayne. She didn't need to listen to his voicemail to know the hidden threats that would be contained in his words, the promises of shame both physical and emotional that he'd heap on her for the stunt she'd just pulled. One thing was for certain. She didn't need to put herself through that. Not yet, at last. She kept the phone on silent and dropped it back in her bag. She'd call her father and Cheryl later, after things were decided by Slash and his friends. Once she knew she was safe and had a place to stay. She checked herself out in the mirror. Her makeup artist had been great. Even tramping through the trees, and riding on the back of Slash's bike, it had barely smudged at all. Now, though, she turned her thoughts back to Slash. A man like that, he was dangerous. She knew that. She'd seen the movies, the TV shows. Men like him, they were used to getting what they wanted. And he wanted her. She'd felt his eyes on her, even in her wedding dress. Felt them tracing over her bare shoulders, over the line of her neck, and the swell of her breasts. She was willing to bet that, even after all these years, he still wanted her. Old flames died hard, wasn’t that the saying? Again, she found herself thinking about him. Lacey could feel her heart racing in her chest as she considered what his muscular tanned body would look like beneath that tight white shirt of his. How the rest of him would feel ... Shit. Why was she so excited by the prospect of Slash taking his payment from her in the form of her body?

Chapter 8 Slash “So, lemme get this straight,” Tiny said, his best belly heaving under his vest and shirt, “you're telling us, we got the fiancée of the motherfucker who literally just put our boys away this fucking morning hiding out in your goddamned bunk?” Slash and seven of the other Battleborn were seated in the conference room around their central folding table. This was a safe place, the only safe place, to discuss business of this nature. It was sound proofed, checked for bugs on a regular basis, and all their cell phones were left outside in the kitchen freezer, with their batteries disconnected. Business like this didn't happen outside the room. Slash nodded. “That's what I'm telling you.” “And, you and this chick,” said Maverick, one of the other guys, “you go back to high school?” “Right,” Slash replied. “Slash, man,” Tiny said as he lay his hands out flat on the table, palms up, and shook his head slowly from side to side, “I don't know what you want us to do with this. I mean, this shit's fucked up. This could be considered kidnapping or some shit.” “Kidnapping?” Slash asked. “She's here on her own, man. You can ask her. Any of y'all can. She climbed on my bike of her own free will.” “You know as well as I do,” Tiny replied, “that don't mean nothing. They can pin all sorts of shit on people. Look at what they're doing to our boys already.” Slash nodded. It was a concern of his, especially with the precarious situation they were already in with the transition from illegal to legit business affairs. This was a bad time for everything to happen, but it was happening regardless of how they felt. “I see your point,” he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he mulled it over. “But, how're they going to know she's here? She's got as much interest in staying gone as we do.” There were murmurs of agreement around the table. “Alright,” Tiny said. “I'll give you that. But, say we're able to help her. What's in it for us?” “Leverage,” Slash said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “I'm telling you guys, there's something here. Something she ain't telling me yet.” “So, you want us to just protect her like some goddamn Snow White, then?” “At least until I can figure out what she's got on this guy. That's all I'm asking for. Maybe she can give us

enough to get rid of him, disgrace him or some shit.” “I don't know,” Tiny said, shaking his head. He may have been Slash's second, but he always had the club's best interest at heart. And he sure as hell wasn't some pansy-ass yes man. That’s one reason Slash had elected him to be his right-hand man. “Well, why else would she leave this guy at the altar?” Slash asked. “Maybe,” suggested Rat, a big, musclebound biker that had just gotten patched last year, “she just ain't in love with him no more.” Rat wasn't exactly the best name for him, but that was the nickname one he'd come with when he asked to become a prospect. Silence ruled the table for a moment, as all the men mulled this idea over in their heads. “Well, why the hell would she still have been with him for so long?” Slash asked, shaking his head. “They were together for years, Rat. Why up and leave him now? Hell, why did she even agree to the wedding in the first place?” “Could she have met someone else?” suggested one of the other guys. “Wouldn't make sense, either,” Tiny replied. All eyes turned to him. “Well, she would've run off with him, then. Right? Instead of Slash?” Nods of approval went around the room. Slash had to hold back a laugh. These guys could run a statewide criminal syndicate, put fear into the hearts of other MCs, and be dangerous enough to have the local authorities on edge. But they couldn't figure out why one woman left her fiancée at the altar. It really was pretty funny in a surreal kind of way. The Marx Brothers would've had a field day. After a little while, Slash spoke up. “I want to remind everyone, though, what's on the line here. We're about to be legit, guys. No more dealing, no more running guns, no more pulling protection on other dealers, or fighting for territory the way we used to.” Slash paused for effect as heads began to nod around the table. “This is about us making our money legally, about us not having to launder our money anymore. When we get these other deals settled, we're gonna be free and clear ... and legal. No more worries about jail or prison, just focusing on the future and building something better for ourselves and the people that come after us.” He paused and licked his suddenly dry lips before beginning again. “Now, I think Lacey, she's the key here. I think. I need y'all to trust me on this, just like you did with Fresh B & B, and just like y'all have been with everything else.” The other Battleborn murmured their support, murmured their misgivings. There was a lot on the line, just like he'd said. But, sometimes life was like gambling. You couldn't win if you didn't take the risk. No one won at roulette unless they spun the wheel. “So, what do y'all say, then? Should we put it to a vote?” Slash asked after a couple more minutes of wild

conjectures were thrown around and promptly shot down. There wasn't the full MC present, but they had enough to outnumber the other guys if their decision was unanimous. “Should we keep her and protect her?” A few more moments of rumbling, then, finally, some reluctant shrugs. “Yeah,” Tiny said. “Let's vote. A preliminary one, until we can get a full meeting.” Slash nodded. Since he was president of the MC, his vote counted twice, according to the bylaws of the Battleborn. But, two votes were generally only enough to sway a vote when things were tight. In his experience, there was generally consensus amongst the men. He felt like they wanted it that way, to act with one voice instead of as a fractured crowd. The club was about solidarity to outside threats, after all, to people who wanted to tell them how to live. But, at least with this preliminary vote, he'd be able to feel out the group. Later, when everything came down to a full vote, he was confident that either the situation would be over, and Lacey would be gone, or he'd have gotten them in so much trouble that a vote wouldn't matter one way or another. “All in favor?” Slash asked, raising his hand. Everyone at the table, every single one of them, slowly raised their hand. “Then it moves forward,” he said. “We'll see what we can get out of her, and in the meantime, we'll keep her warm and fed and out of sight. Next full meeting we get, we'll call another vote. Cool?” “Cool,” Tiny agreed. “Motion's carried, then?” Slash asked the room. All the men nodded their head, silent as the gravity of what they'd just agreed to do began to set in. Times ahead were going to be tough, but Slash knew he and the rest of the Battleborn would be up to the challenge. They always had been, always would be. They were Battleborn, after all.

Chapter 9 Lacey “No, dad,” Lacey said into her phone, “I'm fine. I'm somewhere safe, okay?” “I just don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on, honey. Your mom and I are worried sick about you.” She was seated on the edge of Slash's bed again, but this time in her old clothes. The soiled and ruined wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair that stood in the corner. It seemed to glare at her with insubstantial eyes, like the conglomeration of cloth and tulle resented her for not using it properly. She twirled a strand of hair idly and averted her eyes from the dress, from the guilt. “Dad, I'm fine, alright. I'll tell you when I'm ready to come home.” “But, why are you hiding, hon?” he asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice. What she wanted to say was: “Because my ex-fiancée is a sick fuck who's been physically and emotionally been abusing me for years, and I know it'll just be a matter of time before he murders me.” Instead, she merely shrugged it off. “I don't want to talk about it right now.” “Lacey, honey, you gotta tell us, though. Wayne's not saying anything to either of us, but I can tell his parents are really upset. Well, his father is. His mother's just a wino.” Lacey laughed knowingly. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Valium and Chardonnay. Don't worry, that doesn't have anything to do with me leaving her son at the altar.” “It's just ...” her dad started to say, then trailed off. “I ... I don't know.” “What dad?” Lacey asked. Her dad had always been forthcoming with her, even if she hadn't been that way with him, especially over the last few years. “What's wrong?” “What you did,” he said after a while, trying to pick his words. “I know you probably had good reason, or thought you did, at least. But ...” “But what?” “It was just rude,” he said, his voice rising out of the pleasant, mild-mannered decibel range he normally kept. Lacey was surprised he'd actually raised his voice like that. The word choice, though, was all too familiar. To her dad, politeness ruled over everything. He was the most polite, considerate man she'd ever met in her life. Everything he did, even in private, was seemingly dedicated to preserving civil order. He'd never yelled at her when she was growing up, never struck her in anger, or even as a punishment. He

was simply ‘nice,’... but not in an artificial way, like two-faced Wayne. He was genuine, true to his word. It killed her to have to hurt him this way, and her she felt herself choke up a little. “I'm ... I'm sorry, dad. This is something I had to do. And, I guess it hadn't seemed real until the day of. So, I'm sorry. Okay?” Silence on the other end of the line. Lacey's heart sunk. “Dad?” “I'm here.” He sighed into the phone. A long, sad sigh that carried with it the weight of years of parental responsibility. “Well, I love you, honey. And your mom does, too. Call us when you can, okay?” She smiled at his words. She knew they loved her, but his words just seemed to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling. “Okay, dad, I will,” she said. “You can count on it. And I love you guys, too.” “Okay,” he said, and she could tell her probably had his lips tightly pressed together like he always did in this kind of situation. “We'll talk to you soon, honey. I love you.” “Bye, dad. I love you.” She ended the call and dropped the phone down on the bed next to her. Well, that had actually gone better than she hoped. She hated leaving her dad in the dark like this, but there wasn't anything else she could think to do. She couldn't exactly tell him she was crashed out with a bunch of bikers on the outskirts of town. That definitely wouldn't have flown. But, at least now he and her mom knew she was safe. She rearranged herself on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them. She rested her face in her hands, with her elbows on her knees, and stayed like that for a moment. She needed to call Wayne next. She didn't know how she was going to do handle it, though. How could she call her tormentor, especially after this slap in the face she'd just given him? He'd be out for blood. Just, then, though, the handle on Slash's door turned. She looked up from her cradle to see her old friend return, two cups of coffee in one hand. “Thought you might need some,” Slash said, gesturing with the coffee. Lacey smiled up at him. “Got anything stronger?” she asked. He smiled a little smile and set the cups down on top of his old, beaten down dresser. “Bourbon okay?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of Buffalo Trace. “Please,” she said, nodding. Her eyes tracked over him, over his MC vest, over his arms. They looked even better than when she'd first seen them on the side of the road. He opened the bottle and began to pour a finger or so in each cup. “Gave you cream,” he said as he poured her dram, “and a little sugar.” “Perfect,” she said as she took the warm cup from him. “So, what'd you guys decide?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “We put it to a vote,” he said over the lip of his mug, his steely eyes boring into hers, “and you can stay.” If she hadn't been holding he hot cup of spiked coffee in her hands, she would have burst out in applause. That was the first good news she'd heard in ages. Literally. “But,” he said. Her heart sank. “But?” she murmured. “You can stay, for now,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “That was a preliminary vote, since the whole club wasn't here.” “Geez,” she said, “how often do you guys vote?” “Just on big things,” he said. “But, it was unanimous, which is good. Like I said, we'll still need another one.” “When will that be?” He shrugged. “When all the guys are in one place. Could be in a couple days, could be next week. We got a couple guys in lockup right now, so it might be a while.” She hadn't known about that! She made a face. “In lockup?” she asked. He nodded, solemnly. “Wayne.” All she needed was that one word. So, her fiancée was coming after them, too. She didn't know why, though. Maybe, she figured, they were just easy pickings. He'd always been more interested in his career than anything else, and he already had his eye on the District Attorney's job. All he needed to get there was some good headlines. And a notorious MC like Slash and his friends would fit that bill perfectly. She took a sip of coffee. The hot liquor burned at the same time it soothed. “Guess it's time,” Slash said after a while, “we discussed the sleeping arrangement here. The two guys I mentioned, they don't have bunks here, so we're full at the moment.” Here it came. A mixture of heady desire and trepidation filled Lacey. She hadn't ever slept with another man besides Wayne. In one sense, she was attracted to Slash, but she still couldn’t figure him out. Had the tension she’d felt earlier between them been sexual in nature. Her mind wandered again as she wondered what he would be like. Would he be too rough with her? Could she handle a man like him? And would she be woman enough to satisfy his needs? It wasn't the expectation of sex that worried her, really. She'd been going through that with Wayne for years. Paying for her room and board with her body had become almost second nature. “So, I hope my bed is comfortable enough for you,” Slash said. “Don't worry, I'm taking the couch in the

rec room.” A bit of a shock hit her, then. “You ... you're not ...?” “Not what?” Slash asked, clearly confused. He hadn't been planning on taking advantage of her at all, she realized. She was a person in need, to him, not some piece of meat he could use for his every whim. Inside, she was ecstatic that he wasn't like that. At the same time, though, she was a little hurt he didn't seem to want her in that way. She blushed and shook her head and looked down at her bourbon-laced coffee. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing, I guess.” “Uh ...” he said. “Oh ... kay?” She looked back up at him, a small, soft smile on her face now. “Anything else I should know about?” “Yeah,” he said, setting his coffee cup back on the dresser. “Don't be worried about the guys. They know who you are, and they know you're my friend. They're all gruff, mostly, and may mess with you a bit, but if the MC says it'll protect you, that's what we'll all do.” She nodded, a flush growing on her face, and her smile growing bigger. “What?” Slash asked, returning her smile. She shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked back down at her coffee, thinking about her words. “It's just that, well, I'm wondering where you've been all this time. You and your guys. And, I'm just thinking about how lucky I was that you happened to be riding by.” “Guess that's what it was,” he said. “Luck. I wasn't even planning on going to the wedding, you know. But, then Wayne had one of the guys arrested at the restaurant.” She smiled, but then thought about what he'd just said. She cocked her head to the side. “How'd you know about the wedding? Hear about it on Facebook or something?” “No,” he said and gave her a perplexed look. “You sent me an invitation at the restaurant. Didn't you?” She shook her head. “I didn't even know you were still around, remember?” “Oh ...” Slash said, his brow furrowed. “That means Wayne must have.” “Why, though?” He shook his head. “This is just too weird.” He let the subject drop after that. It was probably for the best they didn't dwell too much on Wayne's obsessiveness. “Well, tell you what,” she said after another sip of the spiked coffee, “how about I take a shower and get

some of this makeup off?” “Yeah,” Slash said, grabbing his coffee mug off the dresser and heading to the door, “probably a good idea. Bathroom's through there. Faucet's a little finicky on the hot water, so be careful. It'll scald.” She drank down the rest of her coffee and got up off the bed. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

Chapter 10 Slash He closed the door quietly behind him and headed out into the rec area. Tiny and a few of the guys were playing cards, and some others were just throwing darts. They didn't have any clear direction, no overriding goal to keep them focused. So, now, it was just time to sit and wait. Tom Petty had been right. Waiting was actually the hardest part. Tiny looked up from his hand. “She settling in alright?” Slash shrugged. “Guess so. She's taking a shower right now.” He considered mentioning the revelation about the wedding invitation, about the card being from Wayne, and not Lacey. But, something like that wouldn't have done any good, or served any purpose. All he'd do is raise some hackles and get some of the guys more concerned than they needed to be at that point. Besides, they'd all voted on the matter. For the time being, everything was settled in the MC. At the same time, though, not telling them immediately was eating away at his insides. He wasn't normally one to keep something from the guys unless it was because of compartmentalizing their “business.” In that case, keeping information back was as much for the MC's safety as it was for his. This was a different matter. Didn't they deserve to know that the new assistant DA had a hard-on for them, one that went beyond just making a name for himself? “You okay, buddy?” Tiny said after a moment. Slash waved him off and pushed the thoughts from his mind. “Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking about all this stuff, why she left him. That kind of shit.” His second-in-command nodded, understanding. “It's screwy, buddy. Real screwy.” Then, Slash remembered something. He didn't have any clean towels in his bathroom. “Shit,” he muttered. “Towels.” Tiny laughed as slash turned and stalked out of the rec room and went to the central linen closet. With as many beds as they had, and as many showers, they had to have a central place to keep everything organized. He opened the closet up and pulled down a couple towels, tucked them under his arm, and headed back down to his bunk. He pushed the door open without even thinking about it and marched into his bedroom. Lacey had left her clothes on the floor, making a trail that led right into the bathroom. He could hear the shower running but, for some reason, it just didn't register that he should knock. This was his bathroom, after all. He hardly even let the girls from the club shower in there. He was too worried they might see too much in such a small gesture and start getting clingy.

He pushed the door open and walked right in, towels still tucked under one arm. Naked, Lacey was half hidden by the curtain as she leaned in to adjust the water. She turned and cried out, a startled yelp that jarred Slash and caused him to drop his bundle. She yanked the curtain in front of her instinctively, trying to cover her nude form from his sight. “Oh, shit!” Slash said, startled by her reaction, and the fact that she was naked in front of him for the first time ever. He went to cover his eyes but couldn’t help catching a glimpse of her wonderful body. He also couldn’t help notice the imperfections. Mottled purple bruises covered her torso. The last time Slash had seen something that bad, it had been on his own body when he'd slipped up on his bike. They were everywhere clothes would always cover: the top of her thighs, her back, her stomach, her ribs. Big, fist-sized bruises that marred her perfect skin. His vision went red with rage. It didn’t take much to fill in the pieces. The thought that Wayne could have won her in high school the way he did, then hurt her like this! For a moment, he flashed back to when he was growing up, when he'd seen the black eye on his mother's face. Back then, it had been a feeling of helplessness that had flooded him. Now, though, he understood why some people murdered. Why some people killed in a blind passion. He stepped towards her, hand outstretched. “Lacey, Jesus-” She flinched back, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. “Please,” she whispered, her words seemingly catching in her throat. “Just give me a second.” Something inside Slash broke. Like a hand had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and began to squeeze. He turned away from her, to give her privacy, and put the towels on the sink. He walked back out into his bunk and sat down on the bed, trying to control his breathing. He needed to control his breath, he knew, or he'd fly off the handle and do something crazy. And he couldn't have that. Not now. Not anymore. He'd loved this woman since the first time he saw her all those years ago. Loved how fierce she'd been, how strong and sure of herself. Now, here she was, carrying the marks of that motherfucker. Cringing away from him like an injured animal. In the bathroom, the curtain rings clinked together as Lacey got in the shower and pulled the curtain closed. Now, Slash knew why she'd left him at the altar. He shook his head, but kept his breathing steady. If only she'd left him earlier. He ...knew that women in those kinds of situations sometimes didn't have options, didn't have choices. They thought no one would believe them, no one would help. And, if they did say a word, their abuser might come for them, might hurt them worse. His mother had been that way. She'd stayed with Slash's dad until the old man croaked from lung cancer. Slash had enjoyed watching that, the old piece of shit's hair falling out, his skin going flabby and yellow as he withered away to nothing but a husk that couldn't harm a fly. Where Slash had grown up, on that side of town, wife beating was pretty common, especially on a Saturday night after a husband had had a few beers. No one called the cops about a few yells, or some screams of pain. Cops were for the rich people that could afford lawyers. People like Wayne, and his

family. Slash had vowed to never touch a woman like that. Not ever. He'd kill himself before he became like his father. He could see now why Lacey was so reticent about discussing why she'd left. To be on the run from your abuser was one thing. To have that same man be a member of law enforcement as district attorney was something else. Who would handle a restraining order? Who would even believe her? He hung his head, cradled it in his hands. If Lacey went forward with her experience, that's all they'd need to ruin Wayne and get them off his back, though. The MC could tear down his career in the eyes of the public, burn his reputation to the ground. No problem. That would still be too good for the likes of Wayne Walker. Men like that needed to pay. They needed to pay in blood. Men like him would continue to prey on other women somewhere else. This needed to end with her. Lacey had to be the last one, no matter what. A few minutes later, she got out of the shower and came to the bedroom door. She'd wrapped the towel around her body, hiding herself and the marks Wayne had left on her. She looked just as beautiful with her makeup removed and her hair down. “Still wondering why I left him?” she asked in a quiet voice. He shook his head and sighed. “No. How long has it been going on?” She came over and sat down on the bed next to him, close enough that her damp thigh pressed against his denim-clad leg. “Since after college, when he was in law school. He'd come home after blowing off some steam with a few beers down at the bar.” He'd heard the same thing from his mother. His father had just been blowing off some steam. Slash nodded as she spoke and sat there silently watching his hands. His hands that hadn't been able to protect the women in his life. “First time he did it, he swore it would never happen again,” she said and gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “The second time, he promised again. The third, he didn't even bother.” She reached down, touched Slash's hand. “Years, then,” Slash said. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. “Yeah,” she said. “Years. Soon, it just felt normal, you know? Well, not normal. But, like, this is my life? This is just how it is.” He nodded again. Humans were so adaptable, they could get used to anything, like frogs in a pot water you set to boil. But, sometimes, they reached their breaking point, like she had. “You could have called me,” he said after a while. She smiled, sniffled a little as her eyes began to water. “I didn't know where you were,” she said. “I was in a strange town, in another state, and didn't know anyone. And I didn't think you'd care, especially after the way everything had happened in school.” He turned his head and looked at her, gazed deep into her beautiful, sad eyes. “I never would have turned you away, Lacey. And I won't now.”

She pressed herself into his side. She sniffled. “Well, yeah, I get that now,” she said, smiling through the tears. He enveloped her with his arm, wrapped it around her and pulled her close against him. “We're going to get this motherfucker,” he said, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion. “We're going to get him, and we're going to make him pay.” “Really?” she asked, wiping a tear away from her eye with the heel of her hand. “Yeah,” he said, holding her in his embrace and squeezing her shoulder. “You'll be the last woman he ever hurts. I promise.”

Chapter 11 Lacey Slash held her like that for a while, and they just talked like the old friends they were. They talked about her friend Cheryl, about her dad and mom. About her life, her hopes and dreams. She melted into him, into the feel of his strong, warm arms around her. He didn't offer to fix anything, he didn't offer his advice. He was just there, present, a warm, comforting shoulder to cry on. She even forgot that she was dressed only in her towel, and practically naked as she sat next to him. After a while, though, their stomachs began to grumble. He glanced up and checked the time on his alarm clock. “Hungry?” he asked. She nodded. “I can eat.” “You should probably put some clothes on, then,” he replied with a deep laugh. “Unless you wanna give the guys a show.” She looked down at her nearly nude body, covered only in her towel wrapping, and her laughter joined his. “Yeah, I guess so.” He got up from the bed. “I'll give you some privacy,” he said. “If you follow the hall back down, you'll see the rec room, and the kitchen beyond that.” She nodded as she got up. “Got it.” She waited for him to leave before she headed to the bathroom. Along the way, she gathered up her trail of clothes. She hung up her towel, a thousand thoughts filling her mind. She still couldn't believe she'd let Wayne do this to her, make her a victim. Even as she thought about the series of events that had occurred, about the small, incremental changes that had happened in her life, a flush crept into her cheek. As she stared into the mirror, completely naked in Slash's bathroom, she realized that this was her moment. This was her chance to take control back. Slash wasn't going to do everything for her. He might try to punish Wayne, hurt him in every way he knew how but it was up to her to provide her own focus and control in her life. No one was going to do it for her. “You got this, girl,” she said to her reflection, and nodded. “You got this.” She looked around for a brush. Of course, he didn't have one. She grabbed one of his combs off the edge of the sink, instead, and ran it through her damp hair. She worked out the tangles, her mind still swirling. She'd made the wrong decision all those years ago, she realized. She'd been blinded by Wayne's family's wealth, his prospects for the future, the gifts he'd showered on her with his ample allowance. She hadn't looked at Wayne's mother, or his father, to see what kind of man he might become. Back then, she should have been looking at Slash. Now, she could see him for the good, honest man that he

was. Sure, he was rough around the edges. But he'd never hurt her. She was more than just some kind of trophy for him, a bit of arm candy to show around at parties and functions. She frowned into the mirror as realization set in. It was probably too late, despite what Slash said or implied about his feelings for her. He wouldn't have her, now, not after all these years. How could he? She had Wayne's prints all over her, little proofs of his tender “love.” And, then again, she'd chosen Wayne, and not the man Slash used to be. She hadn't believed in him back then, believed in the kind of man he would become. Besides, what kind of man would take her now? Especially after she'd become such damaged goods. She was broken, just like Humpty Dumpty. And, just like the big egg from the nursery rhyme, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Lacey back together again. She nearly began crying again, but somehow managed to keep her tears locked up inside her. She put Slash's comb back on the lip of the sink and grabbed her clothes off the floor. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled again. She hadn't eaten anything all day, she realized, except for a light breakfast before leaving for the church that morning. She smiled to herself. She'd started out this day dreading how it would end, how this wedding would have been a change for the worse. By now, she would have been Mrs. Lacey Walker. But, instead of locking her into a fate worse than death, this was a different change. It was one of rebirth. Her whole life stretched out ahead of her, a completely different one than she would have ever imagined a year before. This new life may have been a scary one, with its fair share of trials and tribulations, but at least that big and scary life would be hers and no one else's.

Chapter 12 Slash Lacey took long enough to get dressed and find him in the kitchen that Slash almost began to think she'd pulled another vanishing act, this time on him. Honestly, he wouldn't have blamed her for doing it a second time around. He and the rest of the MC weren't exactly the most savory of characters. They may have been knights to her damsel in distress, but they sure as hell weren't wearing shining armor. He looked up from where he was prepping the cheese for their sandwiches when she walked through the swinging door into their small commercial-grade kitchen. “Took you long enough,” he said, jibing her a little. She gave him a half-smile as she looked around. “Nice setup,” she replied, ignoring his comment. “Thanks. When you gotta cook for a dozen or more people on a regular basis, it helps to have a full-scale kitchen. Should've seen this place when we first moved in.” “That bad?” “Yeah. Would've been lucky to gets eggs cooked in here. Even then, you would've wanted your shots before you ate 'em.” She laughed. “Alright, what's for dinner?” “You still like grilled cheese and tomato soup?” “Haven't had it in years,” she replied. “But, yes, I still love it.” He was shocked. “Really?” he asked. “You practically lived on it when we were in school together.” “Well, Wayne didn't like tomato soup. He'd rant every time he saw it in the pantry, and a grilled cheese just isn't the same without it.” “Easier to just stop buying it, I guess.” She nodded, her movements tight. “Pull up a stool,” he said, gesturing to one of the barstools tucked into the corner. “What kind of soup are you doing?” “One I canned last winter. Nice tomato basil bisque, with heirloom tomatoes from the farmer's market.” “Oh,” she said, laughing as she pulled one of the barstools over. “I was expecting Campbell's or

something.” He grinned. “If I got caught with Campbell's in my pantry, I'd lose my localvore chef's license.” “Oh, come on, they don't have that ... do they?” “No,” he said, smiling as he easily unscrewed the top off his quart jar and popped the sealed inner lid. “But there should be.” “Lemme get this straight,” she said as hopped up on the seat and situated herself. “You're a big bad biker dude, who shops at the local farmer's market?” “Bikers are all about freedom,” he said as he pulled a pot down from pot-hanger over the central prep table. He put it down on one of the gas burners, poured in the soup, and turned on the flame and set it to low. “And, personally, I don't trust the government, or any big corporations, to look out for the little guy. So, yeah, I go down and buy my stuff at the local market.” “Look at you being all libertarian,” she said, laughing. “Liberty ain't free, lady,” he said, grinning as he began to stir the soup. He went back over to the table and began to work on the grilled cheese sandwiches, explaining the ingredients as went along. “Bread's from a local bakery, butter's from raw milk we bought at a farm, and—” “Wait,” she interjected. “Did I just hear that right?” “Hear what right?” “You make your own butter?” she asked, clearly astonished. “Well, yeah. It tastes better that way. Besides, churning is a good work out. Can I continue now?” “Oh, by all means, Slash,” she said, sarcasm heavy in her words as she emphasized his name for effect. “Thank you,” he said, infusing his words with just as sarcastic a tone. “The cheeses are from a local importer who gets them from Vermont and Wisconsin, garlic infused cheddar and a Havarti to give it that creamy, melty texture.” “Wow,” she said, her eyes wide. “Just, wow.” “Wow's fucking right,” he said, putting the yet to be constructed sandwiches on the plate, and taking them back over to the stove. He set the plate on the counter and pulled down a skillet and slapped a slab of butter in the bottom. He started up the burner, got the flame down to a good low heat, and stirred the soup. The secret, he thought, to a proper grilled cheese, was to have both sides grilled in butter. That way, you infused the slice with delicious fat and softened the bread in the process. When the butter had started to melt, he sprinkled a dash of salt over it and placed two slices of bread in the sizzling pan.

Lacey got up from her barstool and came over to the stone. “Where'd you learn to cook?” she asked from behind him. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he said. “Try me.” “I borrowed a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking from the library, first.” She laughed as she leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Go on.” “Then, I watched a whole lot of videos on the Internet. Then, I practiced.” “I bet the guys loved that. All that great food you were making for them.” “Not quite,” he said as he flipped the bread over in the pan and placed the cheese down on the freshly browned side. He closed up the sandwich to let them continue cooking. “A few of 'em got sick off my first roasted chicken. And my steaks sucked for a while. But, thankfully the vote to make me stop cooking didn't go through. Also, I got better and could make it up to them eventually.” She gave him a little half-smile that was heavy with ...something else, an emotion lying just below the surface. “It's all about making it up to people, isn't it?” He knew where she was going with this, he thought. He didn't want her to feel guilty about how things had turned, about something from so many years ago. “Well, sometimes,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but it's also about second chances too, isn't it?” She looked away from his face, at the swinging door that led out into the rec room. “Teach them how to cook, too?” she asked. “The other guys, I mean.” “The ones that wanted to, at least,” he replied with a shrug. “Not everybody wants to cook. So, they wait the tables instead. But, before I did that, and before I opened the restaurant, I went to work as a short order cook.” Lacey laughed, a good genuine laugh. It was music to Slash's ears, especially after the way she'd looked when she was about to get in the shower. He flipped the sandwich over in the skillet and started to grill the other side. “Where at?” she asked. “Waffle House. Where else?” “Oh, I love their hash browns.” “You should try the ones we make at B & B,” he said, smiling. “They're fancy.” “Probably won't be able to for a little while. Not exactly a great idea for someone in hiding to start

appearing in public, is it?” He frowned. He hadn't thought of that. “Nah, you're probably right. Not for a while, I guess.” He turned and smiled at her. “But, luckily, you're staying with the head chef. So, he can probably whip some up for you for breakfast in the morning.” She grinned widely, just like Slash remembered her being able to all those years ago. The light that he'd seen in her the first time, it hadn't gone out. Sure, it had been covered by a bushel, just like in that old church song but it hadn’t been completely smothered by Wayne. Deep down, Slash knew there was hope. He smiled back at her as he felt something deep down inside himself begin to stir again. He stepped away from the stove and grabbed down a couple plates and bowls, then carefully removed the finished grilled cheese from the skillet and plated it. He cut the sandwich in half for her with his chef's knife. “Sit,” he said as he handed the fresh, hot sandwich to her and began to ladle some soup into a bowl, “eat. You need your strength.” “You know,” Lacey said as she took the food from him and went over to sit down in her old spot at the prep table, “in this light, you do almost look like an Italian grandmother.” “It comes from my mother's side,” he said, grabbing a spoon and placing it into the bowl. He slid the bowl of tomato bisque over to her. She dipped one of the sandwich halves into her soup and took a bike. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. “Oh. My. God,” she said. He hadn't bothered with the freshly cut basil on top, like he would have at the restaurant. He'd wanted to leave some new mystery for later on. Clearly, though, the lack of green didn't matter to Lacey. “Good, I take it?” “This is like fucking heaven,” she said through a mouthful of grilled cheese, forgetting her manners. “I don't remember a grilled cheese being this good. Ever.” “Well, you'd never had one of mine, had you?” She grinned and took another bite as he turned back to the stove and began working on his sandwich. “You made mine first?” He looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her. “Everyone knows the chef eats last. It's tradition. Besides, I've had my own cooking before.” She smiled back at him and dipped the corner of her sandwich in her bisque again. She took another bite and groaned, a sound that was borderline erotic. “I think I could marry this sandwich,” she said, dipping it in the soup again. “Seriously. I could have kids with this thing.” “Little toast grandkids, even?” Slash asked, laughing.

Yeah, he thought. Things might work out after all. She might be okay.

Chapter 13 Lacey They stayed up for a little while longer after they finished eating, and Slash introduced her to the rest of the guys who lived at the clubhouse. He'd been right, they were rough around the edges. Coarse was a good word to describe them. But, even if they said some things that were inappropriate in polite company, or spoke in voices that were a little louder in volume than normally acceptable, she felt safe with them. They were straight forward. Honest. Around Wayne, and even his friends and family, she'd always felt as if she had to be on guard. Something always lurked behind his eyes, something fundamentally dishonest and mercurial. What she thought was the right thing to do one day, may not be the right thing tomorrow, or the next day. With the Battleborn, she knew there was just one right thing to do: respect them and the club. Seemed simple enough, Lacey figured. A little before midnight, most of the guys that had to work the next morning began to turn in for the evening. They all had to be up early, she realized. Most of the time, she'd just gone to bed when Wayne had. She hadn't wanted to wake him up in the middle of the night, especially not if he had work in the morning. Slash walked her back to his room. Rather, her room, for the time being He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it. “What'd you think of the guys?” he asked. She smiled. “They're nice,” she said with sincerity. “Tiny's sweet.” He smiled, seemingly happy that they hadn't been too much for her. “Yeah, they're all good guys.” “You turning in for the night, too?” “Probably should,” he admitted. There was a pause, and Lacey's nervous heart began to beat a little faster. “Yeah, I need to,” he said, shaking his head. “Tiny's gonna open for me tomorrow morning, but I'll still have to be up early. Got a breakfast date with our lawyer.” That hadn't been exactly what Lacey had wanted to hear. No, she'd wanted him to come over and take her into those caring work-strong arms of his. She wanted to feel his full lips crushing hers. Clearly, though, that wasn't going to happen. She quirked up the corners of her mouth. “If you need anything,” he said as he touched the door handle beside him, “I'll be out on one of the couches. Alright?” She did need something: to feel a kind touch, a reassuring warmth, a loving hand for once in her life. She simply nodded at him. “Yeah. I'll let you know.”

“Cool,” he said before turning to let himself out. He stopped before he left. “Night, Lacey.” “Night, Slash,” she said, his name making her smile a little as it left her lips. He smiled back and shook his head, before closing the door and heading off down the hallway, back to the rec room. Lacey sighed again. She should have said something. Done something. What was that quote? “If you don't make a choice, life will choose for you?” Something like that, she thought. But, whatever the quote had been, her choice in that moment had been made for her, whether she liked the decision, or not. # # # Slash Slash bedded down in the rec room, just like he'd decided a while ago. Heading off to bed early didn't help him with getting any sleep, though. Lacey's face, smile, laughter, and the sound of her voice filled his mind as he tossed and turned on the overstuffed piece of furniture. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was her naked, beautiful body. It didn't matter that she'd been hurt. She was still Lacey Cox. He lay there, his head propped up on the scratchy pillow, eyes wide open and staring off into the darkness. Silence covered the clubhouse like a heavy down comforter, wrapped him in its embrace. The only thing it couldn't silence, though, were his thoughts. Once, he imagined he'd gotten over her. Had finally forgotten how her touch felt. Had finally put her infectious grin behind him. Apparently, he hadn't. He sighed and rolled back over to face the back of the couch, pulled the covers tighter around his shoulders. The urge to just walk back into his room, to crawl into bed with her and pull her into his arms, was almost too much to control. Somehow, he managed to control himself, but in the end, it was only for her sake. He'd loved Lacey once. Loved her like the air he breathed, or the roads his bike took him down. He'd spent years pulling that love out of his heart, ripping it out by the roots and throwing it as far away as he could. She'd been with Wayne, and forever out of his reach. ...Now she was within his reach but if he tried something and got shot down like he had before, he wouldn't know how to handle it. Could he take that kind of rejection again? Or, would it wreck him just like it had all those years ago? He sighed and rolled back over, put his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. No, he couldn't risk the hurt. No matter how much he needed to. A heart was a fragile thing, like a soufflé or a bike's gearbox. You toyed with one at your peril. Slash, though, was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the soft footsteps as they padded down the hall and into the rec room. Even in the thundering silence, he was too focused on himself, only his own memories and mental arguments. He was so absorbed in his own echo chamber that he barely reacted when the soft, slender hand slipped over his mouth, and the perfectly shaped lips next to his ear whispered a quiet shush. “Come with me,” Lacey said, her soft, sweet breath tickling the inside of his ear. “I want to show you something.”

Chapter 14 Lacey Lacey could feel the stubble on his chin beneath her fingers, and his skin was soft but weathered. He was so different form Wayne, different in every way she could imagine. Wayne used lotions on his face, moisturizers with SPF. She knew Slash didn't. She'd been in his bathroom, after all. He was only wearing his boxer briefs as he slept on the couch, with a light quilt thrown over him. Wayne, though, refused to sleep in anything but silk pajamas. She could tell from this close, too, how different they smelled. Wayne had smelled like expensive cologne and other pampered fragrances. Slash smelled like motor oil, exhaust, and a little spiciness she couldn't quite place. Lacey glanced down his body, allowing her eyes to travel over his broad chest and the tattoos and scars covering his flesh. She wanted to reach out to him, to feel his imperfections and old injuries. She wanted to kiss his tattoos, to let her lips travel down his naked body.... She couldn't believe she was doing this, throwing herself at this man whom she hadn't seen in so many years. And yet, here she stood, clad in only the panties she was supposed to get married in, and an oversized bike rally tee shirt she'd fished out of his dresser drawer. But, there was something liberating about these feelings. She wanted this. She wanted to explore her urges, instead of just subjecting herself to someone else's wants and desires. Slash turned to face her and she could feel him smile a little. His eyes, though, were saying something else entirely. In his eyes, she could see the smoldering desire. That same want, that same need they shared. He reached up and took her hand away from her mouth and went to sit up from where he lay on the couch. All she could feel was the blood pumping through her body, and the desperately intense lust she felt for this man. She stood up, her hand still in his. She gently pulled him up from the couch and turned to lead him back down the hallway, back to his bunk. Together, half-naked, they walked through the pitch-black halls of the Battleborn MC's clubhouse. They crept past the sleeping men's bunks, barely making a sound, sneaking through the corridors until they reached Slash's room. She glanced back at him as they reached his door, and her breath nearly caught in her throat. He looked even more sultry in the hallway than he had on the couch. Even more than when he'd been on his bike on the side of the road, riding to her rescue. Slash reached out to her, and she felt herself tense in expectation of his touch. He reached past her, though, and grabbed the door handle. His body brushed against hers as he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Heat came off of him in waves, so much so that she felt as if she was standing next to a furnace. She tilted her parted lips up to his, her breath heavy, her heart racing. Her hands came up, seemingly of their own volition, and wrapped around him. His skin was hot to the touch, his muscles like iron or stone. He put an arm around her waist, gently pulled her into him. He brought his soft, full lips down closer to hers. Still, though, he didn't kiss her. The wait was too much for her. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing herself more fully into his body. He pulled her tighter, closer. He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was intense, deep, like that of a long-lost lover. Just like the one and only kiss they'd shared all those years before.

A little thrilling shiver went through her body as she tasted him for the first time in so long. He felt just like she remembered, but less timid and more confident than when they'd been kids. He opened his mouth and brushed his tongue over her lips. She parted them for his tongue, darted her own out. They kissed like that in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity, their tongues dancing and lashing and exploring. Slash's strong insistent hands began to explore. He lifted the hem of her pilfered shirt and slipped a palm down over her panty-covered bottom. He grabbed a tight hold of her, filling his hands. She groaned a little at his touch, arching herself into him as he kneaded her supple forgiving flesh. His calluses brushed over her skin, tantalizing her as she ground herself into him. Panting, he broke off the kiss for a moment, pulled back. “Bedroom,” he whispered so quietly she could barely hear him over the sound of her own heavy breathing. She nodded and backed through the doorway, dragging him along with her. She tried to not move too far away, lest he lose touch with her body. She hadn't felt this way in years, not since back in college. She'd always been with Wayne, never with another man, and she wanted to explore every part of the experience possible. He shut the door behind them and allowed himself to be dragged to the edge of the bed. He pulled her into his arms, gently embracing her. They continued to kiss, enjoying this newly found experience. His hands roamed higher, up her back, between her shoulder blades. His blunt nails dragged along her skin, leaving a fiery trail behind them as they trekked down her body. She bit his lip and sucked on it till he pulled away. He reached out to her, but dropped his hands when he realized what she was doing. She took a deep breath, steeled herself. “I've never been with another man besides Wayne,” she whispered. He nodded, seemingly understanding despite his face being almost entirely hidden in shadows. Slash had probably been with loads of women, she thought. Girls would throw themselves at a man like him, with his rippling abs and bulging biceps. And, shit, he could cook, too. “It's okay,” he said. “I'll be gentle.” She reached down, grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt, and pulled it up and over her head. She stood there in front of him, her body on display for another man for the first time. She took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling. “It's okay,” she whispered back. “You don't need to treat me with kid gloves.” He grinned a wolfish grin, then. He reached out, pulled her into his arms, suddenly brusque. She nearly squealed as she felt his lips on her neck and his steely grip on her body. His hands massaged her flesh, grabbed her ass again. She pushed back into his hands as she flattened her breasts into his wide muscular chest. His lips found hers again as he turned her back to the bed and moved her towards it. He pushed her back onto the foot of his bed as his tongue plunged into her mouth. She closed her lips around his tongue, sucking it for a moment before pulling back and grazing her teeth over his lower lip, nipping it lightly. Still standing over her, he cupped a breast with his hand and rubbed his rough palm over her nipple.

Pleasure radiated through her body and she arched into him. She groaned as she leaned forward and began to kiss him again. He was hard now, and his length pressed into belly. He touched her shoulder and began to push her back onto the bed. She resisted him, shaking her head. “Not yet,” she chided as she reached for the waist band of his boxer briefs. “I want to see what I missed all those years ago.” He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, dragging it down her soft skin. She leaned into his hand, kissed his fingers. Then, she tugged down on his boxers to reveal what they hid. He was beautiful. Not too big, not too small. Goldilocks would have been ecstatic. His underwear pooled at his feet, and he stepped out and kicked them away. She wanted to touch him, this first new one in her life. She looked up into his eyes. “Can I?” “Thought that's what we were here for,” he said. Over the last few years, sex with Wayne hadn't been like this. It hadn't been ...fun. He'd just come into the room, or start pawing at her if they were already in bed, and pull her pajama bottoms off. Then, with no foreplay, no preliminaries, he'd force himself into her. She reached up, wrapped her fingers softly around him. She rubbed her thumb over his tip, gathering up his pre-cum, and rubbed it softly over the head. She looked up at him as she began to work her hand up and down his shaft. “Tell me if I do anything wrong, okay?” “You're just fine,” he breathed, groaning lightly as her other hand dipped down to his heavy balls. She could feel how excited she was getting by the dampness in the front of her panties. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel his hands on her again. But, first, she wanted to thank him properly for what he'd done today, for the risk he was taking for her. She touched him, squeezed him slightly, as she worked her hand up and down his shaft. He touched her face again, pressed his thumb to her lips. She turned her head to the side, opened her mouth, and closed her eyes. She took his digit in and began to suck gently on it as she continued to stroke him. She swirled her tongue around his finger, imagining what he would taste like. He pulled his thumb from her mouth and moved his hand into her hair. She looked up at him as she moved her head forward. The head of his cock loomed in her vision as she brought her lips closer. She gently pulled him closer and began to tongue him, swirling around his head, licking up his salty-sweet pre-cum. His head rolled back as he moaned. He didn't grip her hair tightly, not like the other man in her life had. Instead, it was there as if a reassurance. She pressed her lips to the underside of his engorged head, running them down his shaft as her hand continued to work on him. She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. The same heat she felt was reflected in his gaze. He touched her face again, the tips of his fingers nearly burning her. With her eyes still locked on his, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. She tasted him, really tasted him for the first time. She continued to look up at him, gauging his pleasure. Returning her gaze, he moved his hips forward a little, thrusting into her mouth. She felt him begin to move and opened her mouth a little wider, pressed her tongue down. She could feel him already beginning to go. She gently squeezed his balls with

one hand and continued to stroke him with the other. “I'm close,” he breathed. “So close. You might wanna ...” She shook her head, his length still in her mouth. She locked her lips tighter around him and began to suck, began to swirl her tongue around his length. His hand tightened in her hair a little, but not painfully, as he threw back his head and moaned more loudly. He still didn't move her head along, or hold her in place. She bobbed her head forward, matching the pace of his hips. She groaned as she felt his cock pass her lips, his soft skin passing over hers. Funny thing was, she'd never really enjoyed this too much with Wayne. With Slash, though, it was different. “I'm – Oh shit,” he said, his hand tightening in her hair. She felt him hit the back of her throat. She almost gagged, but kept her mouth closed around him, swallowed whatever he could give her. She took every drop, moaning as his salty sweet nectar filled her mouth. She kept him in her mouth, continued to tongue him as he softened slightly. She dropped her hands from him finally, reaching around to grab his firm, tight ass. He pulled his hips back, sliding himself out of her mouth. “Damn, that was amazing,” he said, touching her cheek again as he leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him softly on the lips, smiling against him. “That was better than I thought it would be,” she whispered between kisses. “Yeah?” he asked. “How good do you think this will be, then?” he asked as he pushed her back onto the bed. She didn't resist his pressure this time, and just let herself go with the flow. She laid back on his rumpled covers, thinking about how she'd been here just a few hours earlier crying her eyes out to this man. He grabbed her legs and pushed her back onto the bed, putting as much effort into moving her as he would moving a feather. With her legs half hanging off the bed like that, he dropped to his knees and reached for the waistband of her sheer panties. She arched her hips up off the bed, and he dragged them down her long, slim legs. He gently, but firmly, grabbed hold of an ankle and a calf. Slash spread her, putting her on display for him. She shivered as he dipped his head down, trembled as she felt his hot breath on the inside of her thighs. His lips were even softer than she'd imagined, as he wetly kissed the inside of a thigh. And his tongue even more skillful than she could have dreamed all those years ago, as he parted her lips with just the tip. Between her thighs, he moaned as he tasted. She threw her head back and grabbed hold of the sheets as he slowly and sensually bathed his tongue in her. She pushed her hips into his mouth as his tongue and lips found her clit and slowly began to circle it. She moaned loudly, and stuck a hand in her mouth. She bit down on her knuckles as he focused on a spot just above her clit and kept the wild sensations going. Truthfully, she couldn't remember the last time she'd cum. Sex with Wayne wasn't like this. He didn't care about her pleasure, about whether she got off or not. It was always him taking what he wanted. She'd

always closed her eyes and tried to think of other things till he pulled out and jerked himself off onto her stomach. She could tell Slash was loving this as much as she was. He groaned, clearly enjoying himself, as he slid a finger inside her and found a sensitive area that made her tremble. She nearly screamed, and had to bite down harder to keep quiet. She'd never known she even had a spot like that! She'd heard of it, before, but she'd never been able to order toys to help herself find it. Now, pleasure engulfed her body, the intensity of it almost too much for her. She felt herself building and building, like a river being held back by a dam. Slash smiled between her legs and slid another finger into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and gasped out as the dam broke, releasing all her pent-up passion and wanton pleasure from the years and years she'd been virtually trapped. Her back arched as her body flooded with the ecstasy of her orgasm, her voice louder than she'd ever moaned as she continued to bite down on her knuckle. He continued to tongue her, to bring her to another cresting high, but it was almost too much for her. She released the sheets and pulled her hand from her mouth. She reached down between her legs and grabbed his head, saying, “No, that's too much. Come here.” He rose up from between her legs, his body towering over hers in the dim light. She reached for him, grabbing his hand. With her other, she reached down between his legs and found his newly resurrected cock. “Please, Slash, please just put yourself in me.” “Gladly,” he breathed as he climbed onto the bed, joining her. He pushed her thighs apart with his trunklike legs, spreading her wide for his manhood. She wanted to look into his eyes as he fucked her. Maybe, if this happened again some other night, he would take her from behind, but not now, not tonight. She reached up, touched his face, ran her thumb over the stubble on his chin. He put the head of his cock at her slick opening. With one hand, he guided the tip up and down her lips, parting her, teasing her. The need was building in her again, the desperate need to be filled. She reached out for him again, grabbing his strong, defined forearms and squeezed, silently urging him to slide into her. He pushed forward with his hips. She threw her head back, moaning as he dove into her love channel. She wanted to feel him all the way inside her, wanted to feel him slapping against her ass as he fucked her. She pushed her hips into him as he slid deeper into her, her hands still rubbing his arms, stroking his chest. He lowered himself over her, kissed her again. She opened her mouth to his tongue, sucked on it like it was the last thing she'd ever do on this earth, and pulled him close against her body. At first slowly, he began to thrust into her, feeling her out. “God,” he breathed, “you're so tight.” Wayne hadn't exactly been well-endowed, she realized as Slash began to fill her. She pushed her hips up and into him, meeting each movement of his with an equal and counter of hers as she gyrated on his hardness. She hooked a leg around his back, let it come to rest at the top of his firm ass. She pulled him into her with it, urging him to go faster and deeper. His lips moved down to her neck as his hands founds her. Their fingers entwined, gripped each other tightly, following suit with the rest of their sweaty bodies. They moved against each other in the night,

moaning. He reached down with one hand, grabbed her thigh hard and used it as leverage. She didn't feel any pain. Instinctively, she knew it was from his own need that he gripped her like that. There was no malice there as he continued to fill her. Each time he stroked into her, it felt like the world was the most beautiful place ever. Every time he withdrew, she felt empty, wanting. She'd never felt like this before with a man. She pushed wantonly into him, panting into his ear, kissing his neck as her free hand scratched up and down his back with her wedding-day nails. “Fuck me, Slash,” she panted and groaned in his ear. “Fuck me like you meant it.” He increased his speed, thrusting into her with abandon. His body slapped against hers, slamming the headboard against the wall behind them. As much as they'd been trying to control their own noises, they were about to wake the whole clubhouse. “Oh, god,” she groaned, a little more loudly than before, “I'm almost there! Please, keep going!” “I'm close,” he growled in her ear, his hips speeding up as he thrust in and out of her. “I'm on the pill,” she quickly gasped back. She never wanted to give Wayne a child. That was one of the few things she'd managed to slip in under his controlling radar. “Inside of me, please!” Slash's whole body tensed and shook as he slid all the way into her, filling her completely. She felt him inside of her, his cock almost pulsating and growing as he emptied his seed into her. She cried out till he pressed his lips to hers, silencing her moans with his mouth. She groaned into him, getting her own release as her clit rubbed against the top of his hard cock. Lights exploded behind her eyes as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, as her body milked him for every drop it could. Their lips stayed pressed together, their tongues entwined as they rode out the rest of their sexual, physical high. Their bodies were slick with sweat, but their desires were sated. She wrapped her arms around him, kissed those sweet, soft lips of his one more time before he rolled off of her and collapsed into a panting heap on the mattress. “My fucking God,” he groaned, disbelief in his voice. “Shit,” she panted, her arms outspread on the mattress, “you can say that again. That was fucking amazing.”

Chapter 15 Slash The moment he finished inside her, he knew that he'd made the wrong decision when he let his physical needs take control of the rest of him. Now, laying here in his bed with the woman he'd once loved, he realized how horrible of an idea this had been. He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To have her in his arms, to feel her clinging close to his body? But, this wasn't how he'd wanted it, another voice said from deep inside him, a voice he knew came from his heart, from his sense of honor and conscience. He hadn't wanted to have to rescue her like this, from an abusive relationship. He'd wanted her on his own terms, all those years ago. It wasn't that she was damaged, or anything like that. That hadn't even registered in his mind. Instead, it was that tonight was supposed to be her wedding night. She was originally going to have been with her husband, not with some lowlife biker in a clubhouse on the outskirts of town. Sure, Slash had picked her up on the side of the road, and he was hiding her. But that just meant he shouldn't have been doing this. He shouldn't have been taking advantage of her. “What's wrong?” Lacey asked from beside him. “You okay?” He shook his head and sat up in the bed. “I'm sorry,” he blurted out, not thinking. He looked off, away from her, into a corner of his room. He couldn't face her right now. “I'm so sorry.” “Sorry for what?” she asked, sitting up in bed and putting her arm around. “I'm sorry,” he said again, breathing deep and trying to control his anger at himself. “For what?” she asked carefully. Her touch felt amazing. It felt perfect. That wasn't what he needed right now. This wasn't what he needed. He'd been free of these thoughts for years, he'd traveled down this road and come back form it once before. “We shouldn't have slept together,” he whispered, barely loud enough for even him to hear. “What?” she asked, still whispering but louder. “We shouldn't have slept together,” he repeated, this time loud enough for her to hear it clearly, but still not loud enough to be heard through the walls. “I'm sorry, I should never have taken advantage of you like that.” “Take advantage of me?” she asked, pulling him closer, her hand over his bicep. She shook her head. “You didn't take advantage of me, Dustin.”

“You were supposed to be getting married today,” he said, his voice firm, pained. He was angry with himself, though, not with her. He went to get up from the sweat soaked sheets. “I never should have done this. I should have stayed on the couch. And my name's Slash.” She tried to hold him back on the bed, but he just shook her off. “What? What are you doing?” she asked as he searched on the floor for his underwear. This was a weird turn of events, and would almost be funny if it weren't for the circumstances. Here he was, trying to find his underwear on the floor of his own bunk, so he could go sleep on the couch. All because of a woman he hadn't seen in nearly a decade, coming back into his life unexpectedly. “Are you leaving me?” she asked, sadness entering her voice. This was just getting worse and worse. Not only was he taking advantage of her, but he was hurting her all over again, and now in new and different ways than before. Now, he was abandoning her. He found his boxers after a few seconds of searching and slipped them back on. “I can't sleep in here,” he said. “I'm sorry.” “You are leaving me, then,” she said flatly. The sound of oncoming tears was building up in her voice. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay more than anything he'd ever wanted. But he was afraid. Afraid of what she might think, and afraid of what emotions this all might awaken in him. He shook his head again. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I just ... I shouldn't have done this. This isn't about you. It's about me.” She looked away, brushed off a tear from her eye. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. Just, come back to bed. Okay? I wouldn't be able to sleep all night with you out there on the couch by yourself. Or, at least let me take the couch.” Sighing, he stopped and looked at her. “We don't have to cuddle, or hold each other, or anything,” she said, her voice still full of sadness and resignation. “I just don't want to feel like I kicked you out of your own bed. Especially not after what you did for me today.” He gritted his teeth and looked away from her, to the Battleborn flag hanging on his wall. “Fine,” he said. “I'll stay. Okay?” She scooted over, making plenty of room for him. Deep down, a part of him knew that he'd regret this. Or, at the very least, he knew that it would change things for them. Honestly, though, he didn't know if that was for the better, or not. Change was a powerful force, and it could be one for good, or for ill. He walked back over to the bed and sat down in the spot he'd just left. He kept his briefs on and swung his legs up onto the mattress.

Still naked beside him, Lacey slid beneath the covers, pulled them up tight to her neck. Finally, after what seemed like hours of staring at his ceiling and mulling over his track record of very poor decisions when it came to Lacey Cox, he drifted off to sleep. A few hours later, though, he awoke to the sounds of soft crying. She was on her side, crying into her pillow, her back turned to him. He didn't know what to do. He felt like whatever he did, he'd somehow make it worse. He cursed himself silently as she continued to cry. Whether he still loved her, or not. Whether she was supposed to have married that piece of shit Wayne today, or not. Whether they'd just had sex, or not, ...she was still his friend. And, at least with their history, and the friendship she showed to him while they were back in high school, he owed her some semblance of comfort and compassion. He reached out, touched her shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling her towards, “come here.” His gesture did nothing to stop her tears, but she rolled over anyways and pulled herself against him. Her naked body pressed into his form, seeming like she was made to perfectly fit against him. Slash wrapped his arm around her, pulled her tighter against him, and let her cry on his chest. Her tears fell, dappling his black-inked tattoos, and he just grasped her closer. Soon, the tears stopped, and her breathing went from shallow and fast to deep and measured. She was asleep. This was what he'd tried to avoid by sleeping on the couch. Slash began to feel a change in himself. He frowned inwardly, cursing and shaming himself for having walked right into what he saw coming from a mile away.

Chapter 16 Lacey Lacey finally drifted off to sleep after Slash had cradled her in his arms. She awoke a few hours later, though, to an empty bed, and dim sunlight coming in through the bathroom windows. Not sure of what to do this early in the morning with an empty clubhouse, and Slash not around to guide her, she wrapped the covers tighter around her and tried to drift back off to sleep. When sleep did not come, she was left alone with her thoughts. She wasn't sure what to feel about Slash. All those years ago, he'd been Dusty. A squirmy, insecure kid. Sure, they'd had a kiss, and it had been good. He’d been the squirrelly best friend, the sidekick. Now, though, she didn't know what to think. She'd never had sex like that before, not even during the best days with Wayne before everything went south. She felt herself getting excited just remembering what it felt like to be held by him, how protected and safe she felt with him, but still like she was living a little on the edge while doing it. It was such a strangely wonderful feeling that almost took her right back to the moment when he'd finished inside her. Last night had been intense, that was for sure. But, she didn't know if it was something more, or not. Guys like Slash were different from guys like Dustin. With Dustin, she would have known that she'd be his one and only. She would have been special. With Slash, though, she was probably a dime a dozen. Nothing unique or remarkable about her. Just another piece of ass, a notch on his bed post. She considered actually getting up to check his post, but realized that was probably ridiculous. That was just a figure of speech, wasn't it? Besides, she’d seen no evidence of other women, and he’d treated her with a detached respect and distance she hadn’t expected from someone with his reputation. She shook her head, trying to reconcile the two personas. It was like having known Clark Kent back in Smallville, but having Superman screw the hell out of you when you got to Metropolis. But she still couldn't figure out what had happened afterward, with him trying to get up and leave. He hadn't wanted to take advantage of her. She understood that. Respected it, even. Not every guy out there was as honest, or had as much integrity he did. Which, for a biker, was saying something. They weren't exactly known for the great way they treated their women. It had to have been something else, though. Something deeper. She hadn't seen the guy in almost a decade. He was practically a new man, completely different from the guy she'd known growing up. So what, then? Was it because last night had been special to him, and he'd just reacted poorly? Whatever it was, she didn't know. She probably wouldn't until he broke down and finally told her himself. Well, whatever last night had been, it had been a definite departure from her previous life. And, that being said, she'd definitely put a nail in the coffin on her relationship with Wayne Walker. Even if he could convince her to come back, somehow, she knew he'd never take her back. Wayne wouldn't be able to stand the thought that his friend's cock had been inside her. He'd never want to sleep with her again. With that thought in her head, Lacey drifted back to sleep. # # #

She awoke again some time later. This time because Slash's naked body was sliding beneath the shits and pressing against her body from behind. He leaned down, kissed her shoulder. Something about the way she fit into his body, little spoon to his big one. Like they'd been made for each other years before, but were just now realizing. She moaned sleepily and pushed back into him. “How'd your meeting go?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “Not well,” he said. “Well, I don't think it did. Lawyer's reassuring me everything's going to be fine, but I think he's gotta do that with how much we pay his ass.” “Oh yeah?” she asked. “Yeah,” he said, sighing heavily into her neck as he kissed her again. “He doesn't know if he can get Jerry out on bail for sure, but he's pretty sure he can by saying he's not a flight risk. Same thing with Big Jim. But, this judge that they're going in front of, I think Wayne's got him in his pocket somehow. It looked good for them yesterday, he said. But, now, our guy's saying it looks dicey. So, I don't know who to believe.” “Which one is it?” “Judge Darvers, I think.” “County judge, right?” she asked, sleepily. “Yeah,” he said. “He's up for reelection this year.” “You gotta be shitting me,” Slash groaned into her shoulder. “Sorry,” she said. “I know it hurts you to have your friends in there like this. It has to be hard.” “Harder for them than it is for me, that's for sure,” he said. After that, he lay silently against her for a while. He may have been lost in his own thoughts and concerns, or perhaps he'd drifted off to sleep. As he remained quiet, though, the wheels in Lacey's brain began to turn. “Slash?” she asked after a while. “Yeah?” he said back after she said his name again. She sat up in the bed, the sheet falling off her. She reached down and picked it up, pressing the cloth to her nakedness. “Hey, do you ...” she said, trailing off, searching for the right words. “Do I what?” he asked. “Do you think Wayne knows I'm here?” “How could he?” he asked. “He doesn't even know we met again.”

“Then ... will I make things worse for you and your friends if I stay?” “What?” he asked and chuckled. “Believe me, you ain't gonna make anything worse. We already got Wayne after us as it is. Far as I'm concerned, things can't get much worse than having a vindictive assistant DA on your ass.” He stroked her arm idly as he smiled up at her. “Now, come here.” She snuggled up next to him, using his shoulder as a headrest. He trailed his fingers up and down her back and she put her hand on his stomach. “I'm gonna make sure he never hurts you again,” Slash said after a while. “I promise.” She smiled and nodded into his shoulder. With Slash beside her, at least, she felt safe and secure. He kissed the top of her head. Her hand wandered back to his abs, went lower. “What are you…?” he asked as she encircled him with her lithe fingers. “What do you think?” Lacey asked, kissing him softly. She let her hands, and her body, do the rest of the explaining for her.

Chapter 17 Slash They spent the rest of the morning in bed together, their bodies pressed against one another. It had been ages since Slash had even let a woman stay in his bed this long, years it felt like since he hadn't just immediately kicked them out on their asses. But, Lacey was different. Clearly. As he twisted her long locks around his finger, touched her soft skin, and reveled in the feeling of her warm body pressed against his, he secretly worried. Worried about what she meant to him, worried about the future, and worried about the Battleborn. She couldn't take focus away from his MC. He owed that much to his men, the boys who trusted him with practically their lives. All those years had gone by since he'd seen her last. But for him, the attraction was still there, just as much as it had been once upon a time. Still, though, he knew he needed to stay focused. The situation was coming to a head and any slip up on his part could have far reaching ramifications far beyond what just tomorrow, or the next day, would bring to his door. Now was the time to be cautious, disciplined, and aware. “Slash?” Lacey asked from in front of him. He grunted in acknowledgment. “What do you really want out of life?” He'd thought about this a lot, actually. Ever since he'd joined the Battleborn. “Security, and freedom.” “Just that?” she asked as she re-situated herself to face him. She reached up, stroked his stubbly cheek, his jaw, as she looked deep into his eyes. “No kids, or a family, or anything?” Her eyes were two of the most beautiful gems he'd ever seen in his life. He grumbled again. “I wouldn't mind kids, I guess. I dunno, I've never really thought about it. Never really considered it. Hard to put a baby carrier on a bike, though, you know?” She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. “I'm serious, though.” “Well, what about you?” he asked, deflecting it back to her. He was enjoying himself with her, but this prying into his life, and so quickly, was a little much for a man like him to take in. “You ever wanted kids, or anything?” She rolled over on her back and looked up at the ceiling. “I did. Once.” She shook her head. “Not with Wayne, though.” He stayed on his side, just as before, and watched her face as she became lost in her thoughts and walk down memory lane. “But, yeah, years ago I dreamed about it. Now, though, sometimes I just think that I might feel trapped by it all. I mean, I'd have a little life inside me for nine months, then, poof, I'd have a child. And, for the rest of

its life, I'd be its mother. That's a big responsibility. I don't know if I'd want it, to be a prisoner of my actions like that.” “What about the other times?” Slash asked, feeling uncharacteristically introspective for once. “The other times I think to myself, 'Well, what else are you going to do, Lacey? You got any better ideas, girl?'” Slash grinned and flipped over on his back. “Well?” he asked. “Do you?” She was quiet for a moment, then grinned. “I really don't know. Start up a small gift shop? Maybe a book store?” “Ah, come on,” Slash said, “don't you read the news? Print's dead.” “Well, how'd you end up opening a restaurant?” He wanted to tell her. He really did. But how do you tell the girl of your dreams, one whom you've been trying to forget for nearly the last decade, and, coincidentally, was set to marry the assistant DA just the day before, that you only opened the restaurant as a way to launder money? And that the only way it finally began to go legit was because of stupid luck? How do you say all that to a woman, particularly when you're trying to hide your drug dealing, your gun running, and all manners of other regrets? He just shrugged. “Meh. It was kind of on a lark.” Lacey laughed at his poor, off the cuff response. Before she could dig further, though, he added. “Hey, do you want lunch? It's past noon already.” The faster he got away from this question, and all the consequences of his truthful answer, the better. “I could eat,” she replied. “Good,” he said, getting out of bed and pulling his pants on from where he'd just dropped everything on the floor before crawling back beneath the sheets with her. She slid out of bed behind him and started to grab her clothes from where she'd carefully draped them over the back of a small chair he kept in the corner. Together, they padded out of his bunk on bare feet, headed through the hallway, out through the rec-room, and into the kitchen. All around them, the clubhouse was silent as a tomb. All the guys were still off working their shift at B & B, making sure the doors stayed open through this troubled time. A little bit of guilt tickled at Slash for abandoning them like this, especially when they were two men down, but Tiny had been insistent. He knew they needed Lacey protected, knew that she was the key to all this. “What's for lunch today, Chef?” Lacey asked as she took her spot from the previous day at the barstool. “I was thinking a Hot Dutch,” Slash said as he went over to the big industrial fridge and opened it up. He squatted down and began digging through all the piles and piles of groceries, fresh produce, cold cuts, and

various cheeses they kept the place stocked with. “Hot Dutch?” she asked from behind him. He could practically hear the face she made. “What's that? Sounds like a bad sex position.” He laughed. “It's like a grilled cheese, but it's got ham on it.” “Why not just call it a ham and cheese melt, then?” “Because, it's got Gouda on it,” he said, pulling all the necessary ingredients out and putting them on the counter. “It's different, okay? My mom used to make them for me all the time.” “Is it even a thing?” “It was in the Reynolds household,” he said. They talked while he cooked and prepped, bantering back and forth just like they used to, when they were back in high school. Questions about his family, telling stories back and forth about what they'd done after high school. He was impressed she'd gotten a psychology degree, even if she wasn't overly enthused about her academic accomplishment. It was better than he'd ever done in school, that was for damn sure, and he told her as much. “But what do I do with such a useless degree?” she asked, laughing. “Well, why'd you even get it if it's useless?” “Killing time,” she said, honestly. He was watching the sandwich grill up and grunted without turning around to give her the go ahead to continue. “I hate to say it, now,” she went on, “but, I think I was just getting a degree to get a degree. Like, my mom and dad expected it out of me. And, I figured, what would it matter what I got? I was going to be eventually married to Wayne Walker anyways, right? I'd be taken care of, having babies like I was supposed to, doing everything life had planned for me ...” Slash plated her sandwich and filled her empty bowl with soup. “But, that was before law school,” Slash finished for her. She nodded, her hands folded tightly together. “Yeah.” “Well,” he said, gesturing to the food. “Eat up.” She dug in with gusto, just like the night before. To Slash's pleasant surprise, she seemed to like the Hot Dutch even more than the grilled cheese. “So, this is like a grilled cheese with ham added to it, right?” she asked after he'd turned back to finish preparing his own sandwich.

“Right.” “Why don't you just call it that, instead? You know, a grilled cheese with ham on it.” “Because a grilled cheese has two primary ingredients,” he said as he looked back at her. “Bread. Cheese. You add in anything else and it becomes something besides a grilled cheese. Calling it a grilled cheese with ham is a perversion. It's a Hot Dutch for a reason.” Lacey laughed and dipped the sandwich into her soup, rolling her eyes at his adamant insistence. “Whatever, Slash.” As Slash was plating his own sandwich and setting down to eat, he could tell that something was bugging Lacey. For once, he decided not to pry. She'd tell him when she wanted to. After a few minutes of silence, it finally came out. “I've been thinking,” she slowly said, picking her words carefully as she moved through the sentence. “Unless you plan on letting me wander around here naked while I'm doing laundry ...” A crystal clear mental image of the slight woman wandering the halls of the clubhouse popped into his mind. He immediately shook it free and realized what she was getting at. “Go on,” Slash said around a mouthful of Dutch. “What's your point?” “Well, I only had the one set of clothing when I took off.” “And you need more, then?” She nodded. “Okay,” he said, and tapped his chin. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it aside. “But, Lacey, you know you can't leave. At least, we can't just take you shopping. What if Wayne finds you?” “Well, I was thinking about that,” she said, grabbing her bowl with both hands and beginning to bring it to her lips, “and I think I have a solution. Cheryl!” “Cheryl?” he asked, confused. “Who's that?” “My maid of honor. She's my only real friend here, besides you. And, I think I can get her to bring me some outfits from my apartments.” “But, won't Wayne try and stop her?” She set her bowl of tomato bisque back down, untouched. “I don't know. I mean, maybe? But, he can't just hurt her and make her disappear, can he? He'd just make proof against himself!” Slash shook his head. “I don't know about this, Lacey. I mean, this is a pretty big risk, for you and your friend.” She sighed and looked away. “Look, Slash,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “I need clothes. I can't

wear the same panties for days on end, or the same clothes over and over. You have to help me with this.” The plan was perilous for everyone involved. But she was right. A person needed clothing. While it was her fault for not planning better, he couldn't exactly blame her for poorly executing a spur of the moment plan. He sighed and popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. As he chewed his sandwich, and thought over her words, she added one more shot: “Are you my protector here, or my captor?” That one actually stunned and shocked him a little. He hadn't felt that way, but he admitted that he had to control her movements a little bit, if only to protect her from the dangers in the outside world. He dusted his hands free of crumbs. “Fine,” he said. “Call her. But she's going to have to meet us in a place we can be sure she's not being followed to, especially if she's getting clothes from your place.” She nodded and gave him a little smile. “Thank you.”

Chapter 18 Lacey “No, Cheryl, no. I'm okay, I promise you I'm fine,” Lacey said into the phone, trying to placate her best friend. It wasn't going so well, though. “Well, why in the fuck haven't you called me till now, then!?” Cheryl screamed into the phone. “I've been fucking worried sick about you!” “I'm sorry,” Lacey said for probably the tenth or twentieth time to no avail. She was sitting in Slash's room, alone, praying the walls were thicker than they seemed. And praying, too, that Cheryl would help her out with all this. “I'm so sorry, girl! I just didn't know if it would be safe to call you!” “Safe! You didn't know if it would be fucking safe!” she screamed back, more statement than question. In fear for her ear drum's safety, Lacey yanked the phone away from her. “Yes, okay? Look, alright, I need you to trust me on this, okay? If you can't, I'll find someone else who can.” That last part sounded snotty as it passed her lips but she knew it would get Cheryl’s attention. “Who?” Cheryl said, with more vehemence than Lacey had ever heard from her friend. “You haven't spoken to any of our other friends in years, Lacey. I'm the only one you have left.” Her heart sank. She was right. Lacey hadn't been a very good friend. In the end, though, it had been easier to acquiesce to Wayne's demands when it came to maintaining her friendships. Most of them had simply withered away. “I ... I know ... that's kind of what this is about,” Lacey said, her voice soft and dejected. “Shit,” Cheryl said much more quietly than before, almost a whisper in comparison. “Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to come out that way.” “No, you're right,” Lacey said. “But, I'm trying to change that, okay? So, I need you to listen to me. On the other end of the line, Lacey's best friend took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said after a long, slow exhale. “Okay, I got you. We've got this together. Alright?” “Good,” Lacey said, her finger going back to idly twirl a lock of hair. “Now, this is what I need ...” # # # Lacey and Slash rode out to their meeting point later that night. It was off in the backroads, nestled back in the trees, and away from any major highways. The roads were so treacherous, with theirs twisting and winding, that it would have been suicide to trust yourself on them without headlights. Which, Slash had explained, was the point. If anyone came out here, following after Cheryl, they’d know. Especially with how far out from the main thoroughfares this place was, and how late they were having their meeting. “How'd you know about this place?” Lacey asked, mildly suspicious, as they dismounted from Slash's

bike at a small dead end. There was a small parking place, and then the road faded out of existence and became an ATV trail that disappeared off into the dark, mist-infused woods. She knew the myths and legends about the outlaw motorcycle gangs, the Hell's Angels, the Bandidos. She knew that not all gangs were like that, though. She'd tried not to push too much on knowing about the dealings of the Battleborn since she'd first arrived at the clubhouse. Their president was, after all, one of her oldest friends and her personal savior. Not to mention, of course, she was sharing his bed. And, other than being a little rough around the edges, the guys all seemed pretty alright. Of course, if Lacey was being honest, the guys in the MC seemed more than just a little rough. They seemed positively jagged. Almost serrated. And, to top it all off, Slash hadn't exactly seemed forthcoming when it came to information that didn't directly concern her, especially when it was related to the club. “Club business,” was all he would say, nine times out of ten. It was a surprise to her then when he answered her question. “My father used to bring me out here to go deer hunting. Knew these woods like the back of my hand when I was a kid. We had a deer stand about a mile's hike up that trail.” Lacey laughed. “Figured you'd just say 'club business' again,” she said, impersonating his growling baritone on the last two words. “Ha,” Slash said, slapping his gloves on his thigh to brush the road dust from them, “ha.” “How much longer till she shows up?” she asked with a shiver. The early spring air had a chill to it, the kind you normally only found in the early hours of the morning, just before sunset. Tonight, though, a soft wind stirred the new leaves on the trees, sending their branches dancing to and fro in the blue-black sky. It was just before midnight, and the cool air seemed early for this time of year. “Probably a few more minutes,” Slash said, patting the spot next to him on the bike. “Take a load off, the engine'll keep you warm.” Frowning, Lacey bit her lower lip. “Do you think he'd really follow her?” Slash shrugged. “Maybe he will. Maybe he won't. But we both know Wayne and how he is, best not to take any unnecessary risks. You remember back in school.” She remembered. Wayne had gotten out of line a number of times, and it should have been a warning sign to her. She should have seen all of this coming from a mile way, just because of that one thing. Neither her nor Slash seemed able to bring it up by name, like it was taboo or something. Beside her, though, he had tensed up a little at the memory. Clearly, it wasn't just water under the bridge to him. Lacey let the issue simmer and linger, just beneath the surface. A pair of headlights broke the moment. They belonged to a late model sedan, a Honda, and they slowed as the car came closer. Lacey brought up a hand, shielding her eyes from the blinding light of the high beams, and peered out at the car from around her fingers. When the lights finally illuminated Lacey and Slash fully, the car came to complete halt and killed the engine and, thankfully, the headlights, too. Lacey thought the car looked like Cheryl's, but she couldn't be for sure in the dim light of the stars overhead, no matter how bountiful they were this far out from town. She glanced to Slash, who glanced back at her.

“That her?” Slash asked. His hand was inside his coat. What he was grabbing, Lacey couldn't tell for sure. Was it a gun? A knife? Honestly, neither would have surprised her. The only thing that did actually surprise her was how secure she felt knowing he might be armed. Never in a million years could you have convinced pre-wedding Lacey Cox that being around a weapon of some sort would one day make her feel safe. But, here she was. The car door opened, but the dome light didn't trigger. Silently, the driver stepped out. “Lacey?” Cheryl whispered. “Cheryl?” Lacey whispered back. “You can talk normally,” Slash said, his voice drier than the Sahara during a drought. His leather coat creaked and rustled a little as he withdrew his hand from inside. “Oh,” Cheryl said. She fumbled with her keys in the dark and popped her trunk. She turned back to her, and waved her hands in the air in celebration. “I got your stuff!” Lacey clapped and went running over to her. They met halfway and hugged. “Oh,” Cheryl said as they held each other, just like sisters, “I'm so going to fucking kill you when this is over with.” She soothed the back of Lacey's hair down as they both laughed. Lacey's former maid-of-honor pulled back from the hug, grabbed her by both arms, and held her at arm's length. “You are okay, right?” she asked, emphasizing the verb. “Yes,” Lacey replied, nearly exasperated. “I told you that fifty times over the phone, girl. Why don't you believe me?” “Well, gee, Lacey, lemme fucking think about it,” she said, really laying sarcasm on thick and heavy. “Because you told me everything was fine on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday fucking morning, before you literally jumped out a window and disappeared from your wedding.” Lacey almost stamped her foot in frustration. Her friend was right to be worried. Even though Lacey had escaped a bad situation, Cheryl didn't know the particulars of everything. She just thought her friend had lost her ever-loving mind. “Who's tall, dark, and tattoo-guy over there, anyway?” Cheryl asked, nodding her head past Lacey to Slash. “That?” Lacey asked. “That's Slash.” “Slash, huh? He the new boy-toy, or something?” “What?” Lacey asked, the astonishment at her friend's accusation filling her voice. “Why would you-?”

“Look, girl,” Cheryl said, “I get it. Wayne's a fucking tool. Sure, he's rich and had a good job, but he's so creepy and fake.” “Wait,” Lacey said, holding up a hand. “You thought he was creepy and fake? And you never told me?” Cheryl shrugged. “You liked him, so I kept my mouth shut.” She shifted her look back to Slash and gave him a little wave. “I like the new one, though. He looks rough. Is he?” “Is he what?” “Well, you know,” Cheryl replied, her eyes lighting up, even in the darkness of the deserted road, “rough?” Lacey rolled her eyes. “God, you're the worst.” “You love me,” her friend replied. “Do I get to meet him, at least?” “Yes, you get to meet him. And, by the way, no, he's not my new boy toy. I didn't plan to run off with him.” Cheryl frowned a little, like her hopes had been dashes against the rocks of reality. Clearly, she'd wanted an illicit love affair, or something equally flashy and fun, to be the ultimate cause of Lacey's fleeing. The more they spoke, though, the more that look in Cheryl's eyes began to slowly fade away. “Did you bring my bag?” Lacey asked. “Got it in the trunk. I see why you wanted it in a backpack, by the way. Roller luggage wouldn't work on a bike, would it?” Together, they went back to Cheryl's trunk and grabbed Lacey's bag. In the yellowish light from the trunk's overhead light, Cheryl peered at her best friend, seemingly looking for signs of weakness, fear, or deceit. Lacey grabbed the backpack, her old college bag, and slipped it on. “Wayne said,” Cheryl began, the words clearly leaving a bad taste in her mouth, “to tell you that he'll still take you back, even after all the trouble you put him through.” After all the years of abuse, gas lighting, and bullshit that man had put her through, he had the audacity to try for the higher ground. Lacey gritted her teeth and made a noise of frustration, anger. “Did he use those exact words?” Lacey demanded, seething with anger. Her voice echoed out over the deserted woods, but was answered back by only the rustling of branches. Startled at the flash of anger, Cheryl took a step back. “Yeah, he did. Why?” Boots crunched on the road as Slash came bounding over, quick as lightning. “What's wrong?” he growled as he approached. “You okay?” “Wayne,” Lacey spat. “That fucking asshole said he'd take me back even after all the trouble I've put him through.”

Slash didn't respond. Not at first. He took his time, thinking over his words as Cheryl gazed up at him in some sort of strange awe. “Like,” Lacey continued, “this has all been my fault, all on me. Fuck him.” “Show her,” Slash said, his voice steady. Fear and shame rose up inside of her, though. She didn't to show her friend what she'd been hiding all these years. Just the betrayal of not telling her best friend, it would be too much to pile on top of all the other pain she'd already endured. “Show me what?” Cheryl asked, a sudden resolve and strength entering her voice. Slash looked at her, his eyes caring and soft, but his mouth set and determined. “I know you don’t want to,” he said. “I understand how you feel, but she should know. For her own sake, and for yours.” He was right. She had to show her friend. She had to accept the consequences of her actions, of her decision to hide things from the people she cared about, and who cared about her. She turned her face away, a frown firmly set on her lips, and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “Show me-” Cheryl repeated, but was cut off by Lacey lifting her shirt to show her mottled and bruised midriff. The other woman went pale and mute. After a couple days of healing her skin had gone from a stark blue-red to a splotchy jaundiced yellow as the bruises and contusions had begun to dissipate. They were the sickly color of old injuries, the kind that couldn't have been faked in just one day. It was clear they would have taken an extended amount of time to build up, time that she and Slash hadn't had since the wedding. Cheryl covered her mouth with one hand and let out a low, soul-shattering sob. It was like she'd taken all of Lacey's pain over the years, gathered it up, and compressed it all down into that one, single, guttural note. “How?” she asked. “How did you ...?” How had she hidden it from her? How had she avoided telling anyone? How had she not left Wayne sooner? How had she ever considered marrying that man? There were a hundred questions Lacey imagined her friend asking. “How did you,” her friend finally asked, though, “get in touch with Slash to get away?” Tears filled the corner of her eyes as she drew Lacey into a hug, pulling her against herself. “I didn't,” Lacey said, surprised tears running down her face, as she returned her friend's embrace. “I just took off out of the bridal room. I went out through the forest, and he was pulling over on the highway when I looked up.” “Oh, my God,” Cheryl said, her tears really coming down now, “that's so weirdly fucking sweet.” They sobbed into each other. “Thank you,” Lacey said.

“Thank me?” her ex-maid of honor asked. “Thank Slash.” “Uh,” Slash said from beside them, his boots shifting in the gravel. He was clearly uncomfortable with the amount of female energy coming off them in waves. He must have felt like a buoy in a flood of estrogen. They broke their hug, both wiping tears from the corners of their eyes and drying their cheeks. Cheryl grabbed Lacey by her shoulders and leveled her gaze. “Tell me what you need me to do.” “Nothing,” Lacey replied, shaking her head. “I don't want you near him, or any of this. Wayne's not stable, and I don't want you at risk.” “Yeah,” Slash said from beside them. “Best thing for you would be to get out of town.” “What?” Cheryl asked, shocked. She shook her head, dismissing them both. “I'm not doing that shit.” She'd always been stubborn, more stubborn than any person Lacey had ever met in her entire life. That was probably why they were still friends, truth be told. Every time Lacey wanted to put off plans, or had been forced to because of Wayne, Cheryl wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd just show up anyways. Lacey smiled, wiped away another tear that had trickled down her cheek. “The cops are involved, girl. Wayne's coming for Slash, too.” “We don't know what he's going to do,” Slash added. “You think I can afford to take a trip after all this wedding bullshit?” Beside them, Slash dug into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. There must have been thousands of dollars. “Here,” he said, taking Cheryl's hand and stuffing the money into it, “take this and disappear. Just for a little while? Okay?” Her friend looked down at the stack of folded bills the big biker had just placed in her hand. Her jaw had fallen open, and if she wasn't careful she was going to get gravel pits on it. She looked back up to Slash, then to Lacey. “Are you fucking kidding me? What is this?” Lacey, as astonished as Cheryl had been, looked at Slash. Where had he gotten that kind of money? Did he keep stacks of cash on reserve, or something? “Traveling cash, okay? Just stay gone, and Lacey will call you till it's safe. We don't want to give Wayne anymore leverage, or any other ways he might be able to track her. Please,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious, “this is for her safety, too. Not just yours.” Her eyes changed. They narrowed, became harder, just as they were being opened to the world. Cheryl nodded, the gravity of the situation clearly beginning to set in. “Okay,” she said, looking from Slash to Lacey, and back again. “Okay, you're probably right. Should I go right now?” “Right now,” Slash agreed, nodding his head emphatically. “Soon as you can. Got it? And use the cash as much as possible, not your cards. Cops can track cards.”

“But, I don't even have any clothes.” “Make it a shopping vacation, then,” Slash insisted. “There should be plenty there.” “Just go,” Lacey said, grabbing her stunned friend's hand. “I'll be fine. He can protect me.” “I just don't know if we can protect everybody,” Slash said to Cheryl, emphasizing the last word. “Not unless you want to go into hiding, too.” Cheryl shook her head at first, then shrugged. “Not unless you got some sexy bikers to keep me company, too.” Slash grinned a little to acknowledge her joke, but it quickly faded. “Unfortunately, not where we're staying.” He stopped and looked at both of them, his eyes cold and steely. This was a man who had things under control. Who could take care of Lacey, keep her safe. “Say your goodbyes, ladies. We gotta get back.” Lacey didn't bristle at his statement. There was something about the way he said it, where it was just a statement of fact, and not a command, that she just nodded. “You heard the man,” she said, grinning a little lopsided grin as Slash turned around and headed back to his bike. “Yeah,” Cheryl said, agreeing with her. “I guess I gotta go. Where to, though?” Lacey shook her head. “I don't think we should know,” she said. “I just want you to be safe. Okay? Go somewhere far away. Far as you can get.” Cheryl nodded. “Got it,” she said, then shook her head. “Shit.” “What?” Lacey asked, squeezing her hand. “This is just so surreal,” Cheryl said, laughing a little as she squeezed her hand back. “Okay, I'm gone.” The two women hugged again, more tightly this time. Lacey noticed that Cheryl avoided her bruised areas when she squeezed. Not that it really mattered to Lacey. She'd long ago learned to bear the constant pain. They separated and Cheryl got back in her car as Lacey headed back over to Slash. Her friend started up the little Honda and turned around, pulling back onto the road and heading off down the winding road. Together, they waited in the silence, not saying a word. Lacey wanted to ask Slash about the money, about where it had come from. But, at the same time, she didn't want to know the answer. Instead, she just buried it down beneath a layer of reminders that she trusted this man. That, yes, he was dangerous. But, at least she'd known that when she pulled him into bed with her. But, even more than that, she wanted to ask him about whether or not he really was worried about Cheryl. She hoped more than anything that she hadn't accidentally pulled her friend into a web of danger.

“She'll be fine,” Slash said, somehow detecting her unease without her even saying anything. “I'm just being cautious, that's all.” “You don't think he'd really do anything to her, would he?” He shook his head silently. “I don't know. But, if we remove your friend from the equation, we prevent him from using her. Don't we?” “Yeah,” Lacey replied as they watched her friend drive away into the night, high beams on. “I suppose so.” Soon, Cheryl's taillights disappeared around the bend, and even the sound of her distant car couldn't be heard anymore over the shaking of the tree limbs all around the pair. “Ready?” Slash asked as he climbed back onto his chopper. “Yeah,” Lacey said. “I'm ready.” She hopped up on his chopper behind him and, together, they took off through the night.

Chapter 20 Slash It was the MC's traditional night off from opening Fresh B & B in the morning, and the Battleborn clubhouse was in full swing when they got back. Slash, normally always one for a party, didn't really appreciate it. They were supposed to be keeping a low profile while all this shit was going on. Not having a party out in front, complete with burning barrels and drunk club girls littering the parking lot. Still, he had to admit he hadn't specifically told the guys not to have one. And, when you got down to it, it would actually be more suspicious if they didn't throw a party. That might get their usual attendees talking about changes going on in the club. Changes that very well might tip off Wayne as to where Lacey might be hiding. Engine idling, he walked his rumbling bike through the crowd of revelers to his parking spot through the crowd of revelers. Lacey shifted around in her seat, her head whipping back and forth, as they moved through the crowd. “Oh, my god,” she said, amazed by the array of people, “this is fucking insane.” “Ain't even midnight, yet,” Slash said, trying to suppress a grin. “Things don't get really going till closer to two.” They got down off Slash's bike, and he ushered her inside and away from the madness. There weren't ticket takers at this kind of thing, no one checking ID's. There was no telling what kind of person could just walk up and scope out the place. Lacey was safer inside, away from the noise and all the potential interlopers. “You guys have these a lot?” she shouted as they pushed their way through the crowded entry and into the densely-packed rec room. He had a hand on her as they threaded their way through the mass of people. “Every week,” he shouted back as he pulled her along in his wake. “Gotta let the boys blow off some steam, you know?” “Just some steam?” she shouted back, a grin growing on her lips. “This is worse than the keggers in college!” They entered the rec room and headed back to the hallway that led through to the bunks. All manner of people packed the place: freaks, punks, bikers, you name it. But most of them all had two common denominators: black leather and tattoos. Here, Lacey stuck out like a pure near-virginal thumb. “Frat boys are fucking pansies,” Slash shouted back, a big grin spreading on his lips. As much as he knew he needed to protect Lacey, that she was his priority, he still wanted to stay out here in the hustle and bustle of the drunken crowd. He might need the couple hours’ silence in the morning, but he needed this kind of release in the same way. Drinking beer with your buddies, cheering on the college-

aged girls doing body shots off each other, all with the loudest music a person had ever heard pumping through the heart of the building, the bass thumping like a giant heavy metal heart. Indulging in those baser impulses of his made him feel alive, just like racing down the highway with Lacey on the back of his bike did. But, priorities were priorities. They turned the corner and he led her down the hallway, back to his bunk. Familiar faces greeted him, clapped him on the back. People from the bar he and the guys frequented, and even the occasional customer from the restaurant. He pushed the door that led into his bunk, dragged Lacey inside, and firmly shut the door behind him. Thanks to the huge amounts of sound proofing he'd installed, the party outside the walls quieted to a dull roar they didn't need to shout over in order to be heard. He tossed his jacket and vest over the seat of his chair and went to his dresser, pulled out his bottle of bourbon. “Sorry about the party,” he said as he pulled down a shot glass from his shelf. “Didn't even think about it being tonight.” He poured a shot for himself. She tossed her backpack over in the corner, on top of his coat. “Why be sorry?” she asked as she sidled up next to him and slipped a lithe arm around his waist. He could already feel the fires building as she touched his body, just like the night before. “Just, the noise and all. You don't seem much like the partying type.” She reached down and snatched up his shot before he could take it. “What makes you think I'm such a goody two-shoes?” she asked, her lower lip pouting as they locked eyes. She grinned and took the shot, winced and shook her head against the burn. Slash laughed. “Kinda what I always liked about you,” he said, taking the glass from her and pouring himself a drink, “that's all.” “Well,” she said, “what if I told you the best part about all the noise is that it just means no one else can hear us?” He laughed again, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. He tilted her chin up to his, bringing their lips closer together. “Then I'd tell you that you ain't been doing it right all these years.” Recovered from the kick of the bourbon, she smiled as her lust-filled eyes burned with need. He leaned down as he pulled Lacey to him, crushed her lips with his. His kiss was firm, insistent, and she quickly parted her lips for his tongue. The taste of the liquor on her was a strange aphrodisiac, bizarrely stimulating to him. She pressed her body into his, her breasts flattening against his chest as he gripped her tighter around the waist and let his free hand begin to roam over her firm body. The swell of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. Even though he'd hardly touched them before yesterday, it was like returning to an old, forgotten friend. “I missed you for all those years,” he growled. “Thought about you every day.”

She smiled a little, kissed him again. He groaned as she slid her tongue into his mouth, quickly, briefly, before biting his lower lip as she pulled away. His eyes flickered between her lips and her gaze for a moment, then he grabbed her hand and led her over to the bed. “And, now that I've got you here ...” he said as he pulled her along. Willingly, she let herself be pulled along. “Going to show me how much you missed me?” she asked. He could feel his excitement growing, straining against his jeans. More than anything, he wanted her writhing beneath his touch, wanted to feel the softness of her skin, and her strong legs wrapped around his back. He turned and kissed her again, this time more forcefully, then pushed her down onto the edge of the bed. “Something like that,” he said. She reached up, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled his lips down to hers. They kissed again, their hands tearing at each other's clothes. Their breath fast and panting between kisses, and soon she had him stripped down to just his boxer briefs, and he had her stripped to her bra and panties. His hands ran over her smooth skin, caressing and kneading her flesh, loving the way she felt beneath them. His lips covered her body, and she arched into his kisses and bites. She purred beneath his attention, pulled him onto his bed as she backed onto it. He crawled onto the bed after her, his hand slipping between her thighs and she spread her legs for him with a whimper, inviting him to move higher. He edged his hand higher, teasing her with his fingertips. Heat was rolling off her, enticing him to go higher and higher, to find her hidden treasure. She bit his lip again, thrust her hips a little to try and encourage his continued climb. Slashed grinned, loving how responsive she was. He kissed her again as he slipped a hand behind her back and began to unhook her bra. He began to unfasten her piece of lingerie, began to unveil those orbs he'd admired the night before. Suddenly, someone knocked on his door. Frustrated, they both sighed, then smiled at each other in spite of everything. “What?” Slash roared back over his shoulder at the door. “Who the fuck is it?” The voice said something, but Slash couldn't hear it over the music. “Who?” he roared again. “Rachel!” the visitor yelled through the door. Rachel. One of the club girls who always draped themselves all over him until he gave them the dick they were begging for. She was pretty enough, slight like Lacey, but with great hips and an innocent looking smile. But something about her just drove him up the wall if he saw her more than a couple days in a row. He couldn't quite put his finger on whatever it was, but something just didn't feel right. Of course, there were other things about her that felt just fine. But not like Lacey. “Rachel?” Lacey asked.

“Just one of the club girls,” he said dismissively. He went to get up, to pull some pants on and send her packing on her way. He was occupied, after all. “Coming,” he yelled. “I'll get rid of her.” Lacey, though, had other ideas. She gestured for him to move, and hopped off the bed wearing just her underwear. There was just something about her gesture, about the quiet strength of it that he just immediately paid attention to. It reminded him, almost, of the girl he remembered from high school. It was like a return to that “take no shit” attitude he'd been so intrigued by all those years ago. She strode over to the door, her beautiful ass swaying from side to side with each step. Before Slash could stop her, she'd thrown open the door. Music rolled back into the room, filling it to the brim, as the door flew open. And there in the hallway, leaning up against the frame of the door, stood Rachel, arms crossed. “Hey, big boy,” Rachel said, as if on cue, before she realized Slash wasn't the one opening the door. Rachel stood up straight and made a scrunched-up face as she looked the half-naked Lacey up and down. “Who the fuck are you, bitch?” “Bitch?” Lacey sneered. “I'm who's fucking Slash. Who the fuck are you?” “I'm—” Rachel started to say. Lacey didn't bother to hear her out. She just slammed the door in her face and flipped the deadbolt in place. She turned back around and started back for the bed. She strutted back to him, rolling her hips as she walked. He realized that something inside her had changed in that moment. Slash could just stare up at her as she approached, could just watch the subtle movements of her body. “Fucking bitch!” Rachel screamed from the other side of the door, before kicking the bottom of it like a spoiled, petulant child. Lacey ignored the club girl as she strutted back to the bed, rolling her hips with each step. “You ready for this?” she asked with a wicked grin. Slash grinned up at her and nodded. “Definitely.” She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra and crawled back onto the edge of the bed. He reached a hand down and grabbed her, dragging her back up to his lips. They embraced again, their hands returning to their previous explorations. He slipped a hand down between her thighs, slid his fingers beneath her drenched panties. She reached inside his underwear, wrapped her hand around his cock. She ran her thumb over the head, swirling it. They groaned into each other's mouths as they felt each other, as they realized how excited they were to be together again. She grabbed the top of his waist band and began to drag his underwear down around his hips and he likewise pulled at her panties. Together, they struggled and writhed out of their remaining clothes, desperate to be together, to be joined. She succeeded in removing his, first, and his cock sprang to attention, desperate for her continued touch. She smiled as she rolled on her back and lifted her hips up, letting him pull hers off. Completely naked, they kissed again, their bodies warm and needful as they clung together.

“Please,” she begged, her eyes desperate, “just fuck me. I want to feel you in me.” He growled his own want and reached down to guide his cock to her slick opening. He pressed himself to her sopping wet lips, the head of his cock parting them easily. She bit her lip and nodded as her hands traced fire up and down his back, the nails scraping across his bare skin like the points of knives. Sensation shot through his body, pure unadulterated pleasure, as he slid part of the way into her. His mouth opened a little, his breath coming faster and more raggedly, as he gripped her hips. She thrust her hips forward, encouraging him. “Please,” she pleaded, again. He shoved harder, pushing into her., sliding all the way into her in one long, deep stroke. He didn't stop till be bottomed out in her, his heavy balls resting against her perfect ass. Lacey's eyes rolled back as she pressed her head back into the mattress. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, dragging out each word till she could almost no longer breathe. She arched her hips into him, grinding herself on the base of his cock, pressing her clit against him. She lifted her legs and hooked them over his ass, began to pull him in and out of her. They moved against each other like that, panting as they made out, grinding their bodies against each other. It was fueled by need, a need to find sense in everything around them. Lacey dug her nails into Slash's back, digging red lines over his skin as he drove into her harder and faster. He pulled back his lips, dipped his head down and sucked an erect nipple between his lips, nipped it lightly with his teeth. She pressed herself into his mouth, her whole body shaking as he continued to plow into her. Her abs contracted, her breasts shook, her mouth opened and closed of its own volition. Her walls tightened around his cock, massaging him, as she came hard, her whole body lifting on the mattress and going rigid. Grunting and grinning, he kissed her again. “Did you like that?” he asked before attacking her neck with his flashing teeth and flicking tongue. “Oh, God, do it again,” she panted out, then groaned. “Here,” she said as she pushed against his chest, “I have an idea.” “What?” Slash asked. He could feel himself getting closer to popping, and his instincts were kicking in. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to just grab hold of her shoulders and fuck the hell out of her. “I want on top,” she said, pushing him again, and not stopping till he gave in and rolled over. Still connected in the most intimate way possible, Slash rolled over on his back and dragged her on top of him. He popped another nipple in his mouth, smiling as he suckled delightedly at it. He rested his hands on her hips, but didn't exert any pressure. She'd wanted to be on top, it was up to her to decide the tempo and depth of their fucking. Now supporting herself on her knees, she began to move on top of him. Smiling down at him, she drew herself off his cock till the tip had just barely left her, then she'd slide all the way back to the base. She stroked him from tip to bottom this way as they continued to kiss and caress each other. When they weren't

kissing, their eyes remained locked by a mutual unspoken accord. Each time she pulled herself off and descended again, it was like a long slow stroke from a velvet glove. The feel of his head parting her lips each time, and so slowly, was one of the most intense, pleasurable feelings he'd ever experienced in his entire life. He could feel it down in his feet, this tingle passion that nearly shook his whole body. “Like that?” she asked as he sucked in another sharp breath. It was like he was looking into her soul, plumbing her depths with more than just his manhood. “Goddamn your pussy feels amazing,” he gasped out, not knowing what else to say. “Your dick feels pretty damned good, too,” she said, kissing him again. He wanted to say it, then. The words. But he couldn't. Not now, not in case she threw them back in his face later. Besides, it didn't matter, none of that mattered. What mattered was that the most beautiful woman ever, inside and out, was moving on top of him, and giving him something he’d never experienced. They kissed again, and she began to speed up the movements of her hips. She rubbed just the right way on his cock, and moaned loudly into his mouth again. He grabbed her hips hard, now, sensing that this was the moment to take control back. She wanted it to be deep, he could tell, wanted to have it hit all the right spots inside her. He began to move her up and down his cock, could feel her dripping wet lips as they stretched over him, clung to him on each stroke. “Oh,” she groaned again, “please, Dustin, please fuck me.” He noticed her use of his real name, but didn't mention it. Something about it at this moment, as they melted into one another like this, began to feel right. It was like she was poking through the defenses he'd built, burrowing through the bulwarks and barriers he'd erected over the years. He thrust up off the bed, driving deep into her, grinding his hips so the base of his cock stimulated her clit. She trembled and shook again, just like before. She cried out one more time before biting down hard on his shoulder. His hand moved from hips to ass, pulling her more fully under his control. He bounced her on his cock, moving her bodily up and down like a featherweight as he thrust up to meet each downward stroke. She cried out again around the meat of his shoulder at first, before biting down harder than before and digging her nails into his flesh. He could feel it. He was so close to climaxing, so closing to filling her. Sweat poured from their bodies as he pivoted harder into her. “I'm coming,” he said, finally, pounding into her as he slammed her back down onto his hard length, filling her. “Please, please,” she begged, moaning, her body practically vibrating as she shook in his arms. He tensed up as pleasure erupted in his body and he felt himself empty into her. His vision seemed to fade to black as his whole body thrummed with energy. He'd never cum like this before, and his whole body seemed to spasm as he pumped into Lacey and exhausted himself into her. She seemed to greedily eat him up, pulsating and throbbing around him, milking him as he thrust into her. They cried out together, pulling each other close as they blasted off into orbit.

“Oh,” Slash groaned as he released his hold on her ass, “oh my God.” “Yeah,” Lacey whispered back in his ear, awe in her voice as she was shaken by after tremors. “That was just ...” “Yeah,” Slash said, finishing the nonexistent thought. He didn't know how to finish it, didn't think he'd ever be able to. It was like a little part of him had found fulfillment just then, as they were bound together, then lost it. She rolled off him and collapsed on the bed, beside him. She ran a hand over his chest and cuddled up against his side. He put an arm around her and pulled her close, not caring about how damp their bodies were in the cool air. All that mattered was that as much skin as possible was touching. Just like the night before, she seemed to fit against him, like her body was made for his. She kissed him on the cheek and nuzzled into his neck. “Like having me on top?” she asked. “God yes,” he said, grinning like a lovesick schoolboy. He almost said it again, but he bit back the words. It was too soon. Even after almost a decade, the wounds still felt fresh. Especially with the way she'd pierced through the chinks in his armor when she'd called out his name. It wasn't like him to think this way, and he wasn't completely sure on how to proceed. Things had been simpler before Lacey had come along, that was for sure. That said, though, he wasn't sure simple was necessarily a good thing. Maybe complicated was okay, too. The euphoria he was feeling, though, was more than enough help when it came to pushing these thoughts away. “Sleep now?” she asked from beside him, her voice muscled by his shoulder. “Sleep,” he agreed. Tomorrow was Monday. And that meant it was going to be a long, trying day.

Chapter 21 Lacey She lay there in bed, listening to the sounds of the dying party and the slow, even breathing of Slash. She'd stayed snuggled up against him, almost as if he was a security blanket. As she curled against her knight in shining biker leathers, her thoughts raced as fast as Slash's bike. Yesterday, she'd been about to be a married woman. Tonight, she was asserting her dominance against biker chicks while wearing nothing but her underwear. But, she still didn't know what she wanted. She didn't have any goals. Other than, of course, getting through the next few days. And, on top of that, getting clear of the long reach of Wayne Walker. Maybe she should have just run off with Cheryl, taken Slash's money and fled as far as she could go. That still wouldn't solve her problem, though. Her family would have just become a distant memory, faded and old. What few friends she'd have would be gone, too. Except Cheryl, of course, if she'd gone with her. It wouldn't have mattered anyways, though. The long arm of the Walker estate would have found her. And, in the meantime, he would have just made Slash pay twice as much as he did before. She berated herself over being so stupid as to think she'd ever loved Wayne. How could she have chosen him over this man lying in her bed now? How could she have let her former fiancée get away with as much as he had? Whatever the case, Slash would never accept her. These last two nights of fucking were just that. No matter how wonderful they'd felt, for both of them, that's all they were: sex. Except for tonight, of course. She'd never experienced anything even approaching the intensity of that. The way he'd looked into her eyes as they moved together, almost perfectly in sync. It was like they'd been made for each other, a perfect fit. She couldn't get attached, though. There couldn't be anything with Slash. No matter how she felt about him now. She understood his hesitation earlier now. It was too little too late. Not wanting to disturb Slash, she only mentally shook her head as she tried to clear her thoughts away. She needed to get some sleep for the first time in forever. At least with Slash, she slept well. She felt like she hadn't gotten a single night's rest in the last few years. She'd always been too worried about the future, about what would make Wayne fly off the handle the next time, or some small slight that he'd said. Here though she knew was a safe space. A place she could sleep without fear. And, more than anything else, she just hoped it could remain that way.

Chapter 22 Slash Court rooms in real life are nothing like court rooms on television. They're dingy feeling, with bad lighting, and empty seating. The public doesn't care about most court hearings, not unless a loved one is involved in them. Slash had been in his fair share over the years, both as a supporter of those accused, and an accused himself. He sat back, away from the front, not wanting to make his black leathers and patched vest stand out any more than was unnecessary. This was just an arraignment hearing, not a trial with witnesses where the Battleborn had to be there in force in order to remind them of who they were testifying against. Besides, the farther away he was from the front, the less likely the judge or bailiffs to see the bloody rage in his eyes, or to hear the furious grinding and gnashing of his teeth. After all, one his favorite boys in the world was up front, practically within lunging distance. Jerry was there, standing in the orange suit the county had so graciously provided him. To Slash, at least, he looked guilty as sin. But that was the problem with those suits. They made everyone look that way. At the judge's bench, in front of Jerry, sat Judge Darvers, Wayne's man in the gown. He was probably in his mid-50s, with the bloodshot nose of a thirty-year drunk. His beady little eyes peered out from behind wire-framed glasses, taking in the whole room like it was his to command. He looked exactly like the kind of man to be in Wayne's pocket. A classic good ol' boy, and a longstanding member of the GOB network. On one side of Jerry stood the Battleborn's lawyer, Mitchell Sherman. Sherman was good, smart, and about as trustworthy as any lawyer could be. Which meant, as long as you could afford his fees, he was your best friend and most trusted confidante. The second that cash dried up, though? You'd be lucky if he remembered your name. On the other side of the wayward Battleborn member stood the well-coiffed, spotless, and apparently carefree assistant DA Wayne Walker. He wore a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, cut to show his frame. He was the perfect specimen of a defender of the public's best interest, and probably looked great in front of the TV cameras. But Slash could see through the flimsy elegant facade for the piece of shit woman-beater he really was. Slash could barely control his fists from clenching, could hardly keep himself from leaping right over the bar separating the public viewing area from the well, the part where the lawyers and judges sat. He lectured silently to himself that he needed to stay calm. He needed to remain cool. He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled. He did it again. And again. This was not just Jerry's freedom on the line, by maybe the whole of the Battleborn. Doing anything rash or stupid now would just hurt all their chances down the line when it came to getting out of this. “Your honor,” Sherman, Jerry's lawyer, said, “defense would like to request the court release my client on his own recognizance.” “Prosecutor?” Judge Darver asked, his beady little eyes shifting to Wayne. “Your honor,” Wayne began, “the prosecution feels that the defendant is a flight risk, due to his associates

and the nature of his lifestyle. We'd like to petition that he be remanded until trial.” “Shit,” Slash swore beneath his breath. If they remanded him, he wouldn't be getting out of that hole for God knows how long. Depending on how flimsy the case was, Wayne could well try and keep his case at the bottom of the docket damn near indefinitely. He leaned forward, put his hands between his knees, and tried to keep them from shaking. “Your honor,” Sherman said, stepping forward, “my client is employed, is involved in charitable work for disadvantaged children and the community, and has ties throughout the county. The idea that he'd be a flight risk is patently ridiculous.” “Your client,” Wayne retorted before the judge could get a word in edgewise, “is a waiter, does one toy drive at Christmas every year, and is involved with a motorcycle gang. I don't think I'd characterize him as an upstanding member of this community, or any other.” Sherman went to retort, his mouth half-open, but Darver banged his gavel twice, cutting him off. “That's enough, counselors,” he said, slamming the gavel again. “You've convinced me, Mr. Walker. Seeing as he has ties to this motorcycle gang, I'll leave him remanded till his trial date. Court dismissed.” Slash was fuming. They were holding him as a flight risk? He hadn't done anything serious! He got up and stormed down the central aisle. He could hear the proceedings continuing behind him, despite the gavel having been sounded multiple times. He stopped to look back, to see if there was any more that would happen. “But, your honor,” Sherman said, approaching the bench. “If you'd like to speak to me about this case,” Judge Darver said, his voice level and coldly cruel, “you can see me in my chambers this afternoon. Until then, I am done with this, Mr. Sherman.” “Yes sir, your honor,” Sherman said, backing off a little. Raging, Slash slammed into the exit and pushed out into the hallway, scattering a crowd of civilians. He took as many deep breaths as he could, held them as long as he was able. But, it wasn't any help. He was seeing red. He went and sat on a bench outside the courtroom and put his head down. He clasped his hands together, squeezed them hard, and tried to control his outrage. When the anger got really bad, he had to do this, had to control himself. In his earlier years, just after high school, he'd discovered that he had a temper, a pit of rage that sat deep inside of him. It was part of how he'd joined the Battleborn in the first place. Apparently, they respected it when a thin gawky guy could take on one of their patched members mano a mano, even if it had been because he lost his temper in a biker bar parking lot. It wasn't till after his first few years in the MC, though, and Tiny talking to him about it, that he'd realized it was a problem. Tiny, who'd been a jarhead in Desert Storm, taught him how to control the anger as best he could. When that kind of anger struck him, in a crowded room or even a public place, that was the last place to lose it. Slash didn't know how long he stayed like that, how many minutes he spent just focusing on his breathing like Tiny had taught. Eventually, the anger began to recede from the forefront of his mind. The

thunderheads that had reared their ugly faces on the horizon had slipped back behind the curve of the earth. But, they of course were still there. They just weren't a threat to anyone else at the moment. Someone cleared their throat, bringing Slash back to reality. “You okay?” Sherman asked. “Tough break in there.” Slash didn't glance up. He just nodded, and sat upright, his eyes straight ahead. “Mind if I sit?” his lawyer asked, gesturing to the bench. Slash ran a hand down his face. He'd been up later than he should have the night before with Lacey, and had left her sleeping in his bed that morning. All that exhaustion was hitting him like a ton of bricks now. “Sure thing,” Slash said, not bothering to scoot over or make any room. Sherman squeezed into the spot next to him, put his briefcase across his lap. He wasn't a small guy, not by any means, but he was almost dwarfed next to Slash. “There's nothing we can do,” Slash asked after a short, but pregnant silence, “is there?” The lawyer shook his head. “We can try and appeal, but there's no guarantee on that, though.” “My guy's a sitting duck in there,” Slash said, his voice low. “Other clubs are going to smell blood in the water and get somebody into lockup, or pay someone already there. Jerry ain't exactly pure as the driven snow, here, and he's got enemies.” Clubs like the Lightning Kings, the biggest rivals to the Battleborn, had members on the inside. If they heard Slash's MC was beginning to splinter like this, they'd circle on them faster than a shiver of sharks. That's how it was when you warred over territory. You waited for a sign of weakness. Then you struck. And, right now, as the club was divesting its old business and using the cash to open up new flows, was the worst time. He suddenly felt like Germany invading Russia, like he'd opened a second front in this war. Between the law, and the other gangs in the area, the Battleborn were getting backed into a corner. Sherman considered Slash's words for a moment, then sighed. “I could petition for protective custody in there, Slash, but I'm going to be honest with you: you're probably not going to get it for him.” There had to be something he could do, though. Something he could pull. Slash shook his head and ran a hand down his face again. “You gotta have something. You're our lawyer for Christ's sake. Isn't that what we pay you for?” “Look,” Sherman said, his voice quiet and serious. “I'm going to level with you. Judge Darver's normally a pushover, he only gives a shit about cigars and golf. But Wayne's back early from his vacation, and Darver will do damn near anything Wayne Walker asks. With the exception of maybe sacrificing his first born, but even that's up for grabs depending on how much Wayne's daddy is offering for the judge's reelection fund. Now, maybe if he wasn't here on the case, something would have been different. But it's an open secret that Walker's next in line to be DA, and what he wants becomes what everyone else wants. And, apparently, he wants Jerry.”

Slash's stomach sunk, the pit of it just dropping out and disappearing into oblivion. So, it was all Slash's fault, in a way. If he hadn't gone to Lacey and Wayne's wedding, if he hadn't found her on the side of the road and picked her up, they'd both be in Maui, Cancun, or Paris, or whatever, and Jerry would be more than likely getting out today. Goddammit, why'd he have to think he was so fucking clever? “Don't look now,” Sherman said, drawing Slash's decision, “but here's the man of the hour.” He jerked his head right, just in time to see Wayne coming out of the courtroom. He was surrounded by a gaggle of aids, briefcase in hand. They moved down the corridor, talking as they pressed into the crowd. “No, no,” Wayne said, clear as day, “it was her decision. I don't know why she chose to do it, but I feel like she just needs some space to clear her head and reevaluate some things.” Slash went to jump from his seat as he heard those shit-eating words coming out of that shit-eating mouth. DA or not, he was going to slap that smug look off his face, then beat it in just for good measure. “Hey Wayne,” he shouted as he began to rise from the bench. Sherman lay a hand on his forearm, though, before he could. “Hey,” he hissed. “Get hold of yourself, Slash. I'm not going to represent someone who flies off the handle like this.” Wayne, though, had heard the president of the Battleborn's call. He spun around on a heel, easy as he could, a big pearly white grin on his lips like he didn't have a care in the world. His eyes, though, were lit up by something else, something intense and dark. He stuck a hand up in the air and waved to them both, still smiling. Slash growled deep in his chest, like a wild animal or a mad dog. Sherman, though, kept his hand on his arm. “Slash,” he warned. Without the wave acknowledged by either man, Wayne gave them an expressive fake frown. Then, to Slash's absolute disbelief, the motherfucker winked at him before turning around to walk away with his assistants and hangers on. “Did you see that shit, too?” Slash asked his lawyer. “Yeah,” Sherman said, shaking his head. “I don't normally say this about people, especially not peers. But, something’s not right about him. And everyone knows it.” “Really?” Slash asked. “Rumors mostly,” Sherman said, “but not much else. Not enough to get him disbarred or anything, that's for sure. Certainly not with his dad in the background like he is.” “What kind of rumors?” “The usual. Most people don't believe them, though. But, no one denies he can be a real fucking prick.” Slash smirked. “Yeah. And I'm on the receiving end of it right now.”

Mitchell Sherman gave him a half-smile back and went to stand. “Don't worry about your buddy, Slash. The case against him is weak, once we can get it to trial.” “But getting it to trial, that's the problem, isn't it?” The counselor nodded. “That about sums it up. Think your man will last in there?” Slash thought about, then nodded. “Jerry's tough, and we do have some friends on the inside. But, it's gonna-” Sherman held up his hand, stopping him midstream. “Nope,” he said. “Don't want to know. That's a whole rabbit hole I don't want to go down.” The big biker nodded. His lawyer had been clear on a few things when they'd put him on retainer: he didn't want to know the full extent of everything. He wanted a somewhat clear conscience on certain things in his life. “Call if you need anything else,” Sherman said. Slash nodded. “Will do.” The lawyer walked away, briefcase dangling from one hand. Slash would call if he needed anything that he could get. Deep down in his heart of hearts he knew that he could call every lawyer in the county and they still wouldn't be able to help him. He shook his head and got up from the bench. This wasn't going to be solved with the law, that was for damn sure.

Chapter 23 Lacey Lacey was just coming out of the shower when Slash arrived back from court. He tossed his coat on the chair and collapsed on the bed, flopping onto the mattress. He just stared up at the ceiling, unflinching as he watched it. It was such a weird dissonance, this world she'd stumbled into. She went from the bed of one man whose life was consumed by court dates and legal papers, to the bed of another man whose life seemed to teeter on the brink because of it. In a sense, both were two sides of the same coin. “How'd it go?” she asked as she dried her hair. He just half-grunted, half-growled. “That good, huh?” “More or less,” he replied. “Wanna talk about it?” she asked. He shook his head, sighing. “You know I can't.” “I know,” she replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed with one leg curled up beneath her as she continued to dry her hair. “It's club business. And I'm not in the MC.” Her morning had been consumed by thoughts of the night before. Of who this Rachel girl that had arrived at his door so unexpectedly was. Was she an old flame, a woman she should be worried about? There were just so many things that she didn't understand about his world, things that he either couldn't, or wouldn't, explain. “What's bugging you?” he asked, the tone in his voice even and unaffected. It was just a question, with no malice behind. “You okay?” She wasn't sure how she could broach the subject of the other woman. Or if he'd be as recalcitrant about his love life as he was with Battleborn business. “I've just been thinking,” she began after a moment, “about last night.” “What about it?” he asked. There was a certain change to his tone, though. Like he was thinking back fondly on it, already. “You want round two already?” She glanced down at him, saw that little smile of his. She grinned and shook her head, playfully slapping at him with the damp towel she'd been using to dry her hair. “No, not that.” “Well, what then?” he asked. “Rachel?”

“Rachel?” he asked. “The girl that came to your door last night?” “What?” he asked, lifting his head up from the pillow and looking at her, genuinely astonished Lacey was bringing her up. “Her? What about her?” “I'm just ...” Lacey licked her lips as she searched for the right words to use. What would fit here? “You called her a club girl, I think.” He nodded. “Yeah?” “What is that? Exactly?” Slash sighed and rested his head back on the pillow. “Club girls,” he began, “are just like, I dunno, biker groupies. They like hopping on our bikes, riding around with us, having us buy 'em shots, fucking some of the guys. But, they ain't ol' ladies or anything. They ain't our women, even if they wanna be.” “Old ladies?” “Ol' ladies, yeah,” he continued. “You know, like, ol' man, ol' lady?” She stopped drying her hair for a moment, considered what he'd just finished explaining. “So, Slash?” “Yeah?” “Well, what am I?” Sitting up, he laughed and reached out for her, grabbed hold and pulled her close. “Well, you ain't a club girl, that's for damn sure.” She submitted to his warm overpowering embrace and let the smell of leather and cedar, his distinct scent, wash over her as he pulled her to his broad chest. “Yeah?” she asked. “How are you so sure?” “Cause a club girl would only get one round in my bed,” he said with an easy shit-eating grin. “Ha,” she said, giving him a quick peck, “ha.” He leaned down and kissed her, this time making it much more than just a peck on the lips. It was one of those kisses she could feel all the way down her back and down into her tingling toes. They broke their kiss, but held onto each other as their gazes stayed locked. “Hungry?” he asked after a moment. “Yeah,” she said, her stomach grumbling as soon as it realized they were talking about it. “I could eat something.”

He kissed her again. “I'm going to go cook up some grub, get my mind off things.” She nodded and smiled up at him. “Yeah,” she said. “Sounds good.” Slash let her go and got up to leave. As he left the room, she couldn't help but return to the face of Rachel, the other woman. Say what you wanted, she had more than just a passing resemblance to Lacey. And then there was the part about her not being a club girl, about those women only getting one night in his bed. She shook her head, smiling. She wasn't sure about the feelings she had for him, what shape they might be taking on. But she had a sneaking suspicion that not all hope was lost where they were concerned. If, of course, last night was any indication.

Chapter 24 Slash The day had passed idly, with Lacey and him riding the backroads near the clubhouse as he showed her their turf. He hadn't wanted to stray too far away, into town or on the main roads. He was fairly certain Wayne still didn't know where his ex-fiancée was hiding out, and he wanted to keep it that way. With that in mind, he stayed away from any place he was likely to encounter the cops on a random basis. The way things looked, they may very well have been working hand-in-hand with the assistant-DA. Now, though, he'd settled outside in front of the clubhouse with a bottle of beer in an old lawn chair. He gazed up at the sky, tracking the celestial movements of the stars just like he had when he was younger and out tramping in the surrounding woods. Those had been good times, carefree. Of course, they'd only been that way because he was a young boy, and ignorant to the world around him and the problems in his home. Tomorrow was an early morning for the rest of his brothers, so they'd begun to turn in for the night. Tiny, keenly aware that Slash probably wasn't getting as much sleep as usual because of his new roommate, had offered to keep taking the early shift. Fresh B & B wouldn't open itself, after all. Recognizing it for the hand-up that it was, Slash hadn't declined the offer. He needed the rest. And the time he was getting to spend with Lacey was a godsend. Just the sound of her laugh was almost enough to rejuvenate him, to make him feel like he had a new lease on life, no matter how fleeting that life might be. He was still torn, though. Torn about where the Battleborn were going, this war with the law, and on his relationship with Lacey. He still couldn't afford to lose focus on the club. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he did. The door leading into the clubhouse opened and shut. Slash glanced back, grunted at the newcomer in acknowledgment. “Howdy,” he said. “Evening,” Tiny replied, heaving himself over and grabbing another folded lawn chair that leaned against the clubhouse's exterior wall. “Mind if I join you?” “Free country, brother,” Slash growled, but didn't take his eyes from the sky. They'd talked about Jerry's state of affairs earlier in the day, and about the chances of Big Jim coming home. Everything seemed dark and grim on all fronts, and Mitchell Sherman hadn't exactly painted a pretty or optimistic picture for them. “You holding up alright?” Tiny said as, beer in hand, he unfolded his chair and collapsed into it. “With this whole Jerry thing?” Slash shook his head. “Kills me, man. Us being out here, under the open sky, drinking a beer ...” “While he's sitting in there,” Tiny said, finishing his thought. He took a big swig of beer and smacked his lips. “Yup. Kills me, too. Think he's gonna be safe?” Slash nodded. “One of the guys got the word out, talking to people. Don't worry.”

Tiny grunted in agreement. The unspoken subtext between them was that this needed to stay out of any discussion. The phrase ‘one of the guys’ meant it was in a different compartment, one that wasn't necessarily legal to be in the know on. This, though, was the first time they'd had a chance to really discuss the earlier bail hearing. He'd simply informed the MC about what had happened, not had a full meeting. Unfortunately, he'd made that decision for the worst reason possible: he'd wanted to spend time with his woman. Tiny sucked down some of his brew. “How's the girl?” Slash nodded, took a drink of his own beer. “Good, I guess.” “You're spending a lot of time with her.” “Yep,” Slash said, kicking a piece of gravel away from his boot. “Guess I am.” “You care about her?” Tiny asked in a conversation tone. That was uncharacteristically forward of him, though. Bikers didn't fit all the stereotypes out there. Slash as chef at the Fresh B & B proved that. But the trope about the brotherhood and the guys playing things close to the chest when it came about their relationships, that generally held true. To Slash the question was completely out of the blue. He blinked his eyes and, with a half-smile, shook his head. He looked back up at the stars. “Yeah, I guess. I dunno, though. She burned me real bad, back in the day. Dunno if I can do that again.” “We all get burned,” Tiny said, taking another drink of beer, “every once in a while.” “And for some reason, we all keep playing with fucking matches, don't we?” “Lemme ask you a question. A serious one, now.” “Alright,” Slash said, not sure what he was going to ask. “Shoot.” “How many times you laid your bike out. Five, six times?” “Well,” Slash said, beginning to see his point, “maybe not that much. But, quite a bit, yeah.” “And you got back on that fucking bike every single time, didn't you?” He drained the last of his beer and picked up the next one from beside his chair. “Yep, suppose I did,” he said as he popped the cap off it. “So, lemme ask you this, then,” Tiny said, his words more emphatic. “Why'd you do something so damn stupid, boy?” He thought about Tiny's words before he replied. Really gave them some consideration. Why had he

gotten back up on his bike afterward? What could have possessed him to be so stupid as to do climb back on his hog, even after it had almost put him in the hospital, or damn near killed him. Simple. It was in his blood. He could still remember the first time he'd climbed on a bike, had felt the power virtually at his fingertips, felt the wind in his hair as he raced down the highway. The heat rolling off the exhaust, the sun beating down on his skin and coming up off the pavement as he and the rest of the guys rode under the afternoon sky. He'd felt alive for the first time, had felt as close to complete as he had since high school ... since he'd last seen Lacey. Everything seemed to come together in that moment, like he'd been born to ride a bike. Slash shook his head again. He didn't want to answer, because if he spoke the words they might be real. Especially the part about Lacey. Tiny, like the old codger he was, took the initiative and spoke them for him. “You got back on, man, because you're supposed to get back on. No matter how many times you fall down, you got it in your gut to get back on the damn thing. That's why you're who you are, now.” “So, you're saying I should get back with her?” “That ain't what I'm saying,” Tiny said. “What I'm saying is, if it's in your gut, go for it. Women like that, they don't come around every day. And you sure as hell don't find 'em on the side of the road more than once in a lifetime.” Silently, Slash nodded and took another drink of beer. He settled down deeper into the lawn chair, letting it swallow him up as much as it could, and gazed deeper into the field of stars that splayed out over the night sky. Beside him, Tiny kept drinking his beer in silence. They stayed that way for a little while longer until his second-in-command decided to call it a night. The room was dark when Slash succumbed as well and returned to this dorm where he slipped beneath the cool sheets and pressed himself against Lacey's warm body. It felt like a lover's embrace, this feeling of ease that settled over him as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close against him. “I got tired,” Lacey mumbled, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “It happens,” Slash said and kissed the top of her head. He tried to go sleep, but it didn't come for hours. His thoughts were too heavy with visions of Jerry shivering on a cold bunk, of Big Jim sleeping with one eye open. He had no right to be in the arms of this beautiful woman, stretched out on this comfortable bed. Slash would get them out. Come hell or high water, damnation or the end of days. He'd get his men out of jail, no matter what. That was his silent promise to them, just before exhaustion finally took him and he drifted off into his dark dreams.

Chapter 25 Slash Slash woke to an empty bed. Confused, he patted the cold spot next to him, where Lacey should have been. Wondering where she was, he sat up and looked around the room. Around him, the clubhouse was even more silent than normal. She'd probably gone for a walk, or something. He got up, performed his morning ritual, and pulled on some fresh jeans and a Battleborn emblazoned tee shirt. Ears open, he stalked out of his room and headed out to the rec room. He stopped at end of the hallway and listened. There was a noise, coming from his kitchen. The rest of the clubhouse was silent, though, with most of the guys already gone for the morning shift. He still had an hour or so before he had to be there for the lunch rush. As he made his way across the rec room, and to the door leading to the kitchen, the noises grew louder. Was that Lacey? Cooking for him? He pushed through the door and poked his head inside. The smell of burning bread hit his nose immediately, and the sound of sizzling grease filled his ears. Lacey frantically scraped at a pan with a flat spatula, making scrambled eggs. In the corner, their little toaster had a plume of smoke billowing from the top like the barbarian hordes had just razed it and stolen all their women. At the sound of his entering the room, she spun, a mildly worried look on her face, the flat spatula raised like a deadly weapon. A little startled by her response, Slash froze in his tracks. “Hey!” she squawked in surprise, clearly flustered. “I'm trying to make you breakfast.” “Smells like it,” he said, trying to get past the burnt taste that was filling his nostrils and mouth. “Your toast is burning.” “Shit!” she yelped, almost dropping her flipper as she scrambled over to pull the crisped and blackened bread. He fought the urge down to jump in and save the day. She was trying to cook him breakfast, even if she was ruining all the food in the process. Instead, he just asked, “Need any help?” “No, no,” she said, clearing the smoke from the toaster with a waving dish towel, “I've got it.” He just shrugged and went over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. To her credit, it tasted just fine. He took his coffee black, just like his old man had, and went over to perch himself on the edge of the bar stool. “What am I having for breakfast?” he asked, his voice still drawling with sleep. “Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast,” she said, making a face as she dropped the burnt toast briquettes on a small plate. She went back over and began trying to save the eggs. “Sounds good,” he replied. He could already tell, though, that the eggs were going to be dry little nuggets, and the bacon was going to be slightly undercooked. But, whatever, he'd forced the guys to eat worse

when he'd first been starting out. “How long you been cooking?” “Not very long,” she said, laughing nervously. “I tried to learn once, like you did. But, that didn't go over so well ...” she said. Slash knew “with Wayne” was the unspoken ending to that sentence but he kept his mouth shut and steeled his resolve to eat every last crumb he had. When it came to food, he lived by the Grandma Rule, something a much more famous chef than he had once said. If anyone cooks you food, and they do it with good intent, you eat it and you fucking love it. Food's the gift of life, and you don't just throw it away. When she finally set his plate of overcooked eggs, burnt toast, and floppy bacon in front of him, he just covered the little, pale nuggets in pepper, and the burnt effigy of bread in as much butter and jelly as he could handle. She hovered over him with a wary, nervous look on her face as he choked it all down and contentedly began to chew the bacon for the five minutes it took before he could swallow it. “What'd you think?” she asked, coming around to his side. He belched a little and smiled. “Delicious, honey.” “I thought the eggs were a little overdone,” she said as he put an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “A little. You just need practice, that's all. I can teach you, if you want.” She shook her head. “I don't think I'll get much better,” she said, looking away. “I've taught bikers how to be chefs, babe,” he said, grinning. “I think I can teach a cute little thing like you.” “You really think so?” she asked. “Yeah,” he assured her, squeezing her tight, “how about we start with dinner tonight?” She nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice a little brighter, “I think I'd like that.” “Good,” he said, nodding. He checked the time and let out a low whistle. “I gotta hop in the shower real quick and head out of here. Think you'll be okay alone for the day?” “You've got plenty of books to read,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, “and there's always TV. You'll only be a few hours, right?” “Shouldn't be any more than just a few,” he said, grinning. He reached up, stroked her cheek. She looked back at him with the most adoring eyes he'd ever seen, and something shot into his heart right then. Something he'd never really felt before, something he had no point of reference for. It felt almost the same as when he was out riding on a perfect summer day, the cool wind blowing in his face, the road stretched out before him. He smiled again, this time even more genuinely.

“Want me to hop in there with you,” she asked, touching his chest as she made the suggestion. “Scrub your back?” “No, can't this morning,” he said and laughed, before kissing her softly on the lips. “Tiny's already bending over backwards to cover for me, and I don't think I'd leave on time if I took you up on your offer.” # # # Slash slipped back into the daily dine and grind of the Fresh B & B line like he hadn't missed a shift. Even with their staff shorthanded as it was, and business as busy it could possibly be, the prep went smoothly and the food got out of the kitchen with only minor complications or confusion. In fact, he even had a customer wanting to thank the chef personally. Just towards the end of the shift, Rat, who had been waiting tables for them, came back and got his attention. “Hey man,” he said, a strange quality to his voice, “got a customer out there wants to talk to the chef.” Slash glanced from Rat to Tiny, then back again. “Me?” he asked, sighing. Honestly, he really wanted to finish up his last bit of prep on this dish, but a compliment from a customer was still a compliment. You didn't want to snub someone who might leave a shitty review on some website out there. “Sure,” Slash said, nodding as he wiped his hands clean on a kitchen towel, “lead the way.” Together, the two men walked out to the front of the restaurant. Slash looked around the small eatery. “Over there,” Rat pointed. “That guy.” Slash's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tighter than a bear trap. His chest tightened and his heart began thumping double time. Seated at the corner table, all by himself, was Wayne Walker. With a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of Slash's tomato bisque soup sitting right in front of him. In the Battleborn MC's restaurant of all places. His hair was as perfect as the day before, his charcoal gray spotless and well-pressed. He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. Slash stalked over to him, his fists clenched, simultaneously thankful and pissed that he hadn't brought a chef's knife with him. He'd love nothing more than to slit the motherfucker's throat and drop him face first in that bowl of tomato bisque, to see his heart's blood pump out with each dying breath into the reddishorange tomato soup as he slowly gurgled to death in front of God and everyone. But, that wouldn't help anything. No, it'd just set Slash up for a one-way ticket to the gas chamber. “Hello Wayne,” he growled as he approached the table. “Oh, are you the chef today, Dustin?” Wayne asked, feigning surprise. “I had no idea! It was great seeing you at the courthouse yesterday, by the way. Sorry I couldn't stay to chat, had a long list of meetings.” “What do you want here?” Slash growled through gritted teeth, his fists squeezing so hard his knuckles popped.

“Just getting my favorite, a grilled cheese with some tomato soup. You guys really do an excellent one here, you know? Par excellence, if you ask me.” “Thought you hated grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Slash said, but quickly regretted his words. That was something Lacey had confided him just recently. “Oh? Is that what Lacey told you?” Wayne asked, laughing. He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth clean with it. “No, no, I get it every chance I can when I'm out to eat alone. It was one of the only things she could cook without fucking up, so I made a rule about never having the stuff for it in the house. Had to keep her on her toes so she wouldn't get too comfortable, you know?” No, he didn't know. Slash shook his head. What kind of sick fucker had this man turned into? He stayed silent, just put his hands on the back of the chair that sat across from Wayne. “And, don't worry,” Wayne said, leaning forward conspiratorially. He put up one hand, pretending to shield his words from anyone who might be watching. “I know you've got her, Dustin, hiding out in your little clubhouse,” he whispered and gave an exaggerated wink. Slash squeezed the chair so hard he was almost worried it would begin to splinter. “It's so adorable you think your brotherhood, or whatever, can keep her from me, Dustin. Your little gang, you're all so cute.” Rat and one of the other waiters stepped up beside Slash, their arms crossed as they leveled their gaze on the assistant DA. “Oh,” Wayne said, that fake mirth still in his voice, “great job today. Really knocked it out of the park, considering how shorthanded you were today. What's his name, Big Jim? He not show up for work today? Oh, that's right! Word around the water cooler was that he hit a spot of legal trouble and had the cops cart him out of here.” Slash growled, deep in his chest, vibrating the chair. “Get. Out.” “Really, Dustin?” Wayne asked with a grin, flashing those perfect teeth of his. “Don't be that way,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “It's been so long since we had a nice chat. Since school, I think.” “Out,” Slash said again, this time louder. “And never come back here again.” The clinking of forks and scraping of knives stopped behind him, as they were merely a water faucet that someone had turned off. Slash could feel the eyes in the small restaurant all turn to him and land squarely on his back. Wayne gave him a gratified self-congratulatory grin as he pushed his chair back from the table. The legs scraping across the tiled floor might as well have been rictus fingers tearing over a gravestone it was so ominous. He stood and straightened his tie as if getting thrown out of diners or antagonizing biker gangs was something he did on a daily basis. Slash realized that the second part was actually true. Eyes still on Slash, Wayne reached into his pocket, grabbed a fat money clip, and began to thumb twenties off on to the tabletop. He left a small stack and

walked around the table toward the three men. He stopped next to Slash and said, in a low voice, “How's that leg, by the way? Heal up just fine?” It took every ounce of Slash's dwindling self-control to keep down his darker bloodier urges. He could have easily reached out and crushed Wayne's windpipe and ended things. Lacey would no longer live in fear, the Battleborn would go on without him, and he'd just spend the rest of his life in prison. Everyone would be safe. Everyone else would be fine. Instead, he bit his tongue and kept his hands gripping into the back of that poor, abused chair. “Well, anyways,” Wayne said, leaning in closer, “just remember, my cock was there first.” The other two men were faster than Slash, or at least more prepared. They grabbed their president by the shoulders, arms, and waist as he lunged with a roar for the smug-faced piece of shit. Rat even caught his fist before it connected with Wayne’s rich pretty-boy face. Wayne didn't flinch as the two men held Slash back. He didn't budge, not one bit. “Tell my little whore,” he said as he reached up and patted Slash's cheek with fake affection, “that Daddy'll be seeing her soon.” Then, he turned and left, disappearing out the diner's front door as he began to whistle “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Slash struggled against them one more time. “Don't go after him, prez,” Rat whispered from behind him, his grip like steel around Slash's beefy arm. “Not worth it, brother,” murmured the other guy as Wayne got in his white BMW. “Let go of me,” Slash growled back, shaking off their restraining hands. “I'm fine.” They released him as Wayne Walker backed out and drove away with a happy wave. “I'm fine,” he repeated again, then exhaled swiftly. But he was anything but fine. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, the anger coursing through his body like a live wire. All the eyes of the patrons, wary and cautious, were on him. He should have done it, he should have killed him. Just broken his fucking neck, right there in the middle of the diner. “It'll be okay,” Rat said, reassuring Slash as best he could. “We got this, brother.” “Yeah,” said the other guy. “It's cool, alright?” Slash nodded to them both and, with another grumble, headed back into the kitchen. The eyes followed him as he left, as worries about Lacey being alone for the day filled his mind. Worries about Wayne knowing where she was, and her being left unprotected all day. He burst back into the kitchen. “Tiny,” he said to his second-in-command, “need your help.” “What's up?” Tiny asked as he turned from the line.

“Need you to go check on Lacey.” “Things alright?” Tiny asked as Slash crossed to him. Slash shook his head. He told him about his encounter just then. “Wayne knows we have her,” he said, his voice low. “Just go stay with her, okay? But don't let her know that piece of shit found her. Alright?” Tiny nodded. “Sure, buddy. I'll take care of her like she was my own. But, dude, you really should tell her.” “We'll tell her, alright? But I wanna be the one to do it.” Slash clapped him on the shoulder, squeezed his arm. “You're a good man, Tiny. Best friend I ever had.” Tiny grinned. “You too, son. The best.”

Chapter 26 Lacey “Uno!” Lacey shouted and pointed. Tiny slapped his hand of cards down hard, frustrated. “Goddammit, girl! I was almost there, too!” They'd been playing different games for the last two or three hours, ever since Tiny had gotten back from the restaurant. He seemed particularly keen on keeping her interested in staying with him, always suggesting a new card game or a game of pool as soon as they were finished with the current one. “It's ‘cause you're tired, Tiny,” Lacey said, laughing. “You're losing focus, and not keeping your eyes on the prize. Why don't you go take a nap or something?” “Nah,” he said, shaking his head vigorously, maybe trying to get some more blood flowing the old noggin'. “I'm fine, I'm fine. Just a little rusty is all,” he assured as he began to draw two new cards. He swore under his breath as each one entered his hand. “Well, you look exhausted,” Lacey said, slapping down another card from her hand. “Want some coffee?” “Maybe in a little while,” he said. “First, I gotta whip your little butt.” He normally took a nap whenever he got home the restaurant, she'd noticed, and always loudly announced his intentions. This afternoon, though, was different. First, he'd come home early, and alone. Now, he was stuck to her like a clingy boyfriend. Yes, something definitely seemed off. “So, how was work?” she asked. “Fine,” Tiny said gruffly as checked his hand. He cursed and drew another card. “Nothing out of the ordinary, then?” “No,” he said, “not really.” “You guys busy?” “Yeah, had a packed house. Business was picking up.” “Huh,” she said, slapping down a draw 4 card. “Uno,” she said. Tiny cursed loudly, his eyes like steel as he tried to stare her down. “Goddammit.” “So, if you guys were so busy,” she asked, unflappable, as he drew his cards, “why'd you come home so early? Doesn't Slash need you in the kitchen, since you're short-handed?”

He pursed his lips together and made a clucking noise out of the corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything, just kept his eyes fixated on his hand. Tiny was probably an awful poker player, she realized. “Something happened, didn't it?” she asked, her voice more insistent this time. “Look,” he said, laying down a card on top of the pile, “Slash told me not to tell you. So, I can't, okay? He's my president, I gotta listen to him.” What was she? A mushroom? Something to just keep in the dark and feed shit to? She growled and tossed her cards down. “Oh, come on, Lacey,” Tiny said, “he's only trying to keep you safe and make sure you don't worry, that's all.” Why were the men in her life always keeping things from her, or trying to control her? Outside, the sound of a whole pack of bikes filled the air as the rest of the Fresh B & B staff came riding home. They roared to a halt in the parking lot and, one by one, the engines began to turn off, so the symphony of thunderous motors seemed to fade slowly away. “Well,” she said, giving Tiny a narrow-eyed, angry look, “I guess I'll just have to ask the president himself, won't I?” “Look,” he said, “I wanted to tell you right away, but he said I should wait for him.” She exhaled with frustration and rolled her eyes. She tossed her last card on the pile. “I'm out,” she said, her voice sounding almost as dejected as she felt. Tiny looked like he was about to crumple his remaining cards in his hand. He slapped them down on the table, face down, cursing the whole while. “Sorry,” Lacey said as she crossed her arms, “Granny Cox loved her card games.” “Yeah, yeah,” Tiny said, “I'm sure she was a sweet ol' lady.” “Nah,” she said, “she was a real bitch, never let any of the grandkids win.” “Look,” Tiny said in a lowered voice as he began to jog the cards together and straighten them, “don't hold it against him when he gets in here. He has good reason for doing what he did.” Lacey sighed. “Fine.” Soon the door flew open and all the men were bustling in. Most of them collapsed down in the rec room, bringing the decibel level up to a dull roar, while a couple of the guys made a bee line for the kitchen and the ice-cold beer stored there.

Slash brought up the rear, his face downcast and torn. “Hey babe,” he said, his voice matching his visage. “We need to talk.” She was still a little pissed that he'd instructed Tiny to hide something from her, even though she didn't know exactly what it was. “You don't say,” Lacey said. The president of the Battleborn shot a look to his second-in-command. Tiny raised his hands in a ‘don't shoot’ gesture. “I didn't tell her nothing.” “He didn't,” Lacey confirmed, feeling a little bad for the older man, but still pissed. “Come on,” Slash said, his voice emotionless, “we'll talk in my bunk.” She slowly pushed back from the table and got up. She followed after him, her feet light on the floor as he clomped and stomped through the clubhouse. They got to his bunk and he held the door open for her. She stepped past him and he closed the door after her. “So, what happened?” she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Wayne showed up at the Fresh B & B,” Slash said as soon as the door was shut. His eyes were searching around the room, and his brain was clearly working double-time. “He, uh, knows where you are.” A cold fear gripped her immediately. The bottom of the world seemed to fall out, like the little piece of sanity she'd lucked into, was all just an illusion that was about to be brushed by her ex-fiancée. She felt the blood leave her face, her palms go clammy, as she thought of all the torment he'd put her through. As she remembered the pain and humiliation he'd caused her, inflicted on her. “But,” he said, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her shoulder, “we're going to protect you, okay? We're going to find a way to keep you safe. You have my word.” She nodded silently, trying to believe Slash, to really listen to his words and internalize them. The Battleborn had managed to defend her so far, hadn't they? She nodded again. Yes, they could keep doing it. “And, if it really comes down to it,” Slash said, rubbing her shoulders, “we'll get you out of here, okay? You and me, I promise. But first I'm going to make sure he pays for what he did to you, babe. He'll never have you again, alright?” She nodded again, trying to fight back the tears. Her eyes were already watering, and her shoulders were already shaking. She turned to Slash and smothered her face against his chest, and he pulled her against him as she began to cry. “I should just leave,” she sobbed out. “I'm bringing this all upon you guys. You and Tiny and the others, you don't deserve this.” He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. “Go where?” he asked. “Your parents can't protect you, babe. Your father's a good man, but he can't do anything but call the cops.” “Then what?” Lacey sobbed. “What should I do?”

“Stay with us,” Slash replied. “Simple as that.” Lacey tried to wipe away her tears as she nodded. “This just doesn't seem fair to any of you guys.” “Life ain't fair, babe,” Slash said. “And no one's ever claimed otherwise.” # # # For dinner that night, Slash requested a grilled cheese and with tomato soup. He insisted, though, that she make him one. “Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you had my eggs this morning. You know you're a way better cook than me.” “Well, yeah. But, I've had more practice than you. Besides, I want to see what you can do with one.” She laughed. It had been a while since she'd made one, years since Wayne had decided one day out of the blue that he didn't like them anymore, but she felt like she might be up to the task. Of course, it wouldn't be as amazing as the ones Slash had been making for her. “I don't care how amazing it is,” he said. “I just want you to make me one.” He stayed with her in the kitchen while she cooked, helping out with little manly things like opening the jar of tomato bisque or reaching utensils and dishes that were high up on a shelf. Other than, he stayed out of her way. She could tell it was a trial for him, too, to not offer guidance on everything. When she was finished, she set the cooked and halved sandwich down in front of him with a flourish. His eyes widened in surprise. “It looks delicious,” he said with a grin as he picked it up and took his first bite. His eyes closed as he chewed contentedly. She knew that somewhere, deep down inside her, she needed him to like it. Not because he was a man, or because she was sharing his bed. She needed to feel accomplished, needed to feel like she could be her own person. “Well?” she asked expectantly as she wiped her hands clean on a dish towel, her eyes fixated on the slow, chewing motion of his mouth. He nodded as he gave a slow and steady thumbs up. “Excellent,” he said around a mouthful of grilled cheese. Something welled up inside her chest. Whatever it was, it felt like a new, unfamiliar emotion. An emotion she hadn't experienced in so long, that it felt completely foreign to her. Like it was from someone else, someone who'd had a better, easier life than she had. As she watched Slash tear into the sandwich, she slowly began to realize what the feeling was. It had been gone so long from her life that she'd nearly forgotten. Pride, a sense of accomplishment. A tiny piece of self-satisfaction she'd been denied for years and years by Wayne. She grinned wider than she thought possible. Slash leveled those steely eyes on her, a slow smile creeping up at the corners of his lips. He saw it, too, this new sense of success.

When she'd cooked for him this morning, this feeling hadn't come. This time it filled her to the brim as she watched his reaction with each bite. Maybe, it was because this time, she could tell he wasn't just faking it. Whatever the reason, she liked it. And she wanted more. # # # That night, as she was about to crawl into bed, Slash sat down on the edge of his side and reached into the top drawer of the nightstand. “What are you doing?” she asked as he pulled something heavy and metal out of the nightstand. “Being prepared,” was all he said. She looked over his shoulder, and her breath caught in her throat. In his hands, he held a pistol, a big cruel-looking piece of sleek engineering, all oiled and shiny. “I don't know-” she started to say, feeling suddenly nervous. “It's just for our safety,” he said, cutting her off in a brusque tone as he slapped a magazine into the bottom of the gun. She didn't like guns. Never had, never would. Her father had never kept them around the house, either for hunting or self-defense. “Does it ... does it really have to be loaded?” she asked as he flicked the safety and slid it back into the nightstand. He turned and looked back over his shoulder, with an incredulous look. “Doesn't do much good if it ain't.” Still standing, she wrung her hands a little. “I'm just not comfortable about them, that's all.” “Well, I'm not asking you to use it, am I?” “This is just feeling a little too real, all of a sudden, that's all.” “Well, unfortunately, it is real,” Slash replied, shutting the nightstand drawer and getting up from the bed. “Look, I don't keep them around because I like them, babe. I keep them around because sometimes they're necessary.” She wanted to ask him what kind of life he had led that guns were considered necessary. She already knew the answer to a silly question like that. She sighed as she just crawled into bed and kept her thoughts to herself. “I just ...” he began, but trailed off as he switched off the overhead light. “I need to protect you. I made a promise to you. If you don't feel comfortable with it in the room, I'll have to sleep outside in the rec room.”

She shook her head as she pulled the sheets and covers up over herself. “No, it's fine. I'll get past it, tonight. Hopefully, this'll all be over soon.” “Right,” he said as he went back around to his side and got back in bed. “Eventually, this will all be sorted. But, in the meantime, I'm still going to have to do some things you don't like.” She sighed and nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. I just wish it didn't have to do with guns.” “Well, you can wish in one hand and shit in the other ...” She frowned a little. “Yeah, I know,” she said, not needing to hear the whole thing. He snaked an arm around her and pulled her close against his body, against his warmth and strength. Quiet confidence came off of him, seemed to permeate the air. This was a man who knew that the future was going to be rocky, but that he'd make it through to the other side. She hoped that, somehow, maybe through osmosis, she'd somehow absorb some of that strength and confidence from him. She bit her lip, and nuzzled into his shoulder. At the very least, she knew, she could share in one thing he possessed. His warmth.

Chapter 27 Slash “Woah, Tiny,” Slash said into the phone in as even and steady a voice as he could get, “slow down, brother. Tell me exactly what's gone.” His second-in-command didn't listen to his request. “They're all gone,” Tiny yelled. “Gone, dude!” Slash was still seated on the edge of the bed, wearing just his boxer-briefs. Through his sleep-induced fog, he couldn't make sense of what Tiny was saying. “What's gone?” he asked. “Not what, dude!” Tiny yelled. “Who!” “Who? What the fuck?” “They took them all, dude! Cops came in with the health department a little while ago, wouldn't let me call you. They started arresting all the guys. Everyone that was here, man, they arrested and carted away!” Slash ran a hand down his face. This wasn't good. Without the crew, they didn't have a restaurant. And without the restaurant, they wouldn’t have the money to bail the guys out. This was the beginning of a vicious downward spiral, one that would suck down all of them, including Lacey. “Fuck!” “Fuck is right, man! We got breakfast in less than an hour, Slash, and I don't know what the fuck we're gonna do. We got you, me, and Rat, since he's just in for lunch. We'll be lucky to get this place cleaned up, as is, but with just two cooks and a server? Ain't no way, man!” Slash shook his head. He didn't know, either. What could they do? They had everyone. They were lost. “So what do you want me to do, prez?” Tiny asked. Slash sighed, shook his head again. “Just shut it down, I guess. Put a sign up, apologizing to the customers.” Tiny sighed into his ear, a hard edge to his voice. He didn't like to admit defeat any more than Slash did, but sometimes you had to make a tactical retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. Five people, they'd be fine. Four, maybe they could pull it off. But three? No way. “Shit,” Tiny said. “You're probably right. Alright, man.” “Just ... I'll be there in a bit, okay? We'll help you clean up and deal with any customers that wander up wondering what's going on.” “Got it,” Tiny replied in a dejected voice. “See you in a bit.” Slash sighed again and hung up the phone. He tossed it on the bed next to him, his mind whirling with

emotions and thoughts. Health department and cops? This had Wayne written all over it. So, now he had no men, no restaurant, and no way to make a legit living. He should have just killed the motherfucker when he had the chance the day before. He'd been so close. He could have just reached out, done the deed, been done with it. This was how the end must feel, he thought. He leaned his head forward and dropped it into his hands as he felt an ominous cloud of despair begin to descend upon him. It was thick, black, and oily as it came closer and closer. Maybe it was time to run. Maybe it was time to just cut his losses, divvy up the funds, and call the Battleborn done and over with. He and Tiny could take Lacey with them, ride out west, find another place to open shop. But, what would that accomplish? Wayne would just come for them there, no matter how long it took. And his brothers would still be locked up. What else could he do, though? He didn't have any options left. He didn't have any cards left to play, no tricks up his sleeve. He was just a man, after all. The bed shifted as Lacey sat up and pressed herself against his naked back. “Morning,” she said. “What's going on?” He sighed and turned around. “Cops raided the diner, took everyone but Tiny in.” “Oh no,” Lacey said, putting her hand to her mouth. “What are we going to do?” He winced. “Seriously considering closing everything up.” She made a face, one of hurt, like he'd just killed her first puppy. She shook her head. “You can't do that.” “Well, what can I do, babe? We can't run a restaurant without people. He's got us over a barrel. It's just me, Tiny, and Rat, and three people ain't enough to run a diner. And no diner means no money.” “You got me,” she offered, an innocent, beatific smile on her lips. “I waited tables back in college for some extra spending money.” “You did?” he asked, the wheels already beginning to turn. But, then they stopped, and he shook his head. “But, what about Wayne?” “What about him? Sounds like he's already fucking up your world, like he said he would. If you leave, what will that accomplish?” “Here,” Slash said, “I can at least keep an eye on you, keep you protected.” Her eyes flashed. “So, the solution is still to keep me here in a cage? All I did was leave one, just so I could be locked up in another?” He shook his head, sighing. “No, babe. I just want to keep you safe, that's all.” “Look,” she said, “the only way for me to be safe is for Wayne to be gone. Right now, he's untouchable, right?” He groaned in dismay. She was right. He was damn near untouchable. And as long as Wayne was the

assistant DA, he'd stay that way. Nothing Slash could do would set them on an offensive foot. “What you need to do is put him off his game,” Lacey said. “You need to piss him off.” “And, how do we do that?” “Easy,” she said with a smile. “Pretend like it doesn't matter, pretend like he isn't get to you. He just gets more and more pissed, until he loses control and flips.” Slash thought about her recommendation. Actually, looking back at his friendship with Wayne, that was a good plan. Wayne had always been a sore loser and a bully. Back then, it hadn't been as noticeable, but little warning signs had been there. “So?” Lacey asked, still smiling as she watched the gears grinding in Slash's head. Slash smiled. “Yeah,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I think you're right.” “Finally,” she said, kissing him for one, long moment. “I'm getting the credit I deserve.”

Chapter 28 Lacey Lacey took a shower and got ready as fast as she could. While she did, Slash called Tiny and told him the plan, called the Battleborn's lawyer, and went to rouse Rat from bed. She pulled on fresh clothes, put on the little bit of makeup Cheryl had managed to snag her, and was ready faster than she'd ever gotten ready for anything in her life. While Rat was drying off, she and Slash bolted out the front door and hopped on his chopper. They roared out of the clubhouse parking lot, put rubber to asphalt, and took off down the highway. “Here we go,” Tiny said, about half an hour later, as he showed them what was left of the kitchen. “We can work with this,” Slash said, that same old, familiar grit in his voice that Lacey had grown to admire so much. The restaurant was in as much, if not worse, disarray than Tiny had painted with his words. If a bomb had gone off in there, it would have been an improvement. The walk-in refrigeration was tossed, with veggies everywhere. None of the sauces or prep were ready. Tiny had done his best but sometimes your best just wasn't good enough. Rat arrived a few minutes after Slash and her, and they put him to work cleaning the dining area. He began to take chairs down from the tables and started the monotonous job of rolling software. Which was fine by Lacey. She'd always hated side-work when she was waiting tables. “Okay,” Slash said just before he began sweeping out the inside of the walk-in, “here's what we're gonna do. First thing, we keep the restaurant closed through breakfast. Lacey, I'm gonna be sexist here and say you probably got the nicest handwriting of all of us, so you write the sign. Tell 'em we'll reopen at lunch and apologize for the inconvenience” “Got it,” Lacey said. “Tiny,” Slash said, turning and gesturing to his second-in-command with the broom he clutched in both hands, “need you to go through the food we got, everything that's fresh and manageable.” “'Kay,” Tiny said, nodding. “You and I, we're gonna put together a list of dishes we can make, and make fast.” “Limited menu, then?” Tiny asked. Slash nodded. “Very. I think I see some soups left over from yesterday, so we'll put those on the menu as we find 'em.” “Got it,” Tiny said. “Lacey, you ever done any chalk board writing?”

“Not since kindergarten,” she replied, grinning. “Well, then you better learn to get in touch with your inner five-year-old. Need you to wash the daily specials board above the counter so we can put the menu up there.” “Once we know it,” Lacey clarified. “Right,” he said, “once we know it. Come back here after the sign, and you can help Tiny with the sorting. Rat should be able to handle the dining area by himself.” With their marching orders, the three of them separated and went about their tasks. They had a deadline to meet. # # # The next several hours passed in a flash. Before Lacey knew it, she was watching as Tiny and Slash pulled together a bare bones, limited menu that had as much variety as their meager ingredients could afford. After she'd assembled the menu from the two men, Rat helped her get the chalkboard down, and they set to work getting the day's options written out. “Perfect,” Rat said, grinning from ear to ear, wide enough for his missing molars to be on display. “Looks really nice, Lacey. Real nice, indeed.” “Thanks,” Lacey said, blushing a little as she swept a wild lock of hair back behind her ear. “Can you read it alright?” “Just fine,” he said, checking the time, “can read it just fine. Almost opening time. You think the bosses are ready?” She nodded as her eyes glanced towards the clock on the wall. “If they're not, they better be soon.” She tapped her foot. She was impatient, but she also felt something else ... On one hand, she was ready to get this over with. She knew it was going to be bad. Up to this point, the entire morning had already sucked. She'd woken up early to the sounds of a frayed and edgy Tiny on the phone and a defeated Slash in bed. Then, when they'd decided to try and do something about Wayne's shenanigans, she'd had to rush through getting ready. She'd worked with the guys for the last three hours, desperately trying to get the restaurant back into a somewhat presentable shape. On the other, she realized she was actually a little excited for the shift ahead. This would be the first time she'd really worked a job since college, since Wayne had limited what she was allowed to do. The prospect of working at the Fresh B & B, even just for one shift, may have frightened her a little, but it also made her feel a little valuable. Like she was going to get to be part of something bigger than herself. “Lacey, babe,” Slash roared from the back of house, “last check. Come on, girl!” She went scurrying around the front counter and headed in back. The kitchen was back to being a spotless as the Battleborn clubhouse's. Slash and Tiny were standing in front of the prep table with Rat, and the

smell of sauces and soups filled the air. “Alright, guys,” Slash said, his eyes traveling around the group, “ain't gonna lie. Next three or four hours are gonna be brutal. I know it, you know it. But, we ain't got much choice, do we?” Both men nodded silently in agreement with him. “Only way we're gonna get our boys out is by standing up for ourselves, and keeping this cash flowing in. Ain't that right?” “Right,” they both said. Slash's eyes wandered away from the men and settled on her. “And someone reminded that this asshole can't stand it when people don't just give up and give in. Ain't that right?” She felt herself blush. She gave him a tight smile and nodded back. “What're we gonna do then?” Rat asked. “Stand our ground,” Tiny said, nodding fiercely. “Damn straight, Tiny. We're gonna serve as many customers as we can. They wanna know what's going on, you tell 'em we had a refrigeration malfunction, so we're on limited menu. Got it, babe?” “Got it,” she said, nodding again. There was a knock, outside on the front door. Rat broke away from the little pow-wow and went up to the dining area. “We'll keep a tab on what's running low, and what's run out,” Slash said to Lacey, not breaking stride in his pep-talk. “You got any problems with complainers, you send 'em to Tiny to deal with.” Beside him, Tiny narrowed his eyes and gestured pounding a fist into the palm of his hand. “Really?” Lacey asked, suddenly unsure of all this. What the hell had she gotten herself into? “Is he gonna beat them up or something?” “Nah,” Tiny said, laughing, “I'm just messing with you. I got some gift certificates already written up back here.” Relief flooded Lacey. “Tiny,” she chided. “Let's focus, here.” “Hey guys!” Rat called as he came pushing in through the double doors from the dining area. “Hate to break up this love fest, but we got customers stacking up outside. And they look hungry enough to eat a road hog with no ketchup.” “Then let 'em on in,” Slash said. “Let's get this shit-show started!” # # # Lunch was over and done with before Lacey could even think to blink or even sit down. She hadn't even

had a chance to really check the time until the constant flow of customers began to taper off a little bit, down to a more manageable level. Her waiting skills had kicked in after the fourth or fifth customer, and she hadn't had many mishaps during the shift. She switched up a couple orders at a table, but nothing too serious. But, still, the last time she'd done this job she'd been a little younger, a little faster, and was definitely more used to being on her feet for long stretches of time. Now, as she sat at one of the tables with Rat, massaging a foot through her sock, she recalled just how painful that waitress job had really been. Somehow, she must have repressed those memories. “You handled everything real nice, girl,” Rat said from across the table. He was kicked back, his feet up on one of the adjacent chairs. “Real nice job today.” “Thanks,” Lacey said, grinning despite her pain. Eventually, though, she couldn't hold it back anymore and winced a little. “Foot pain don't ever go away, neither,” he said, grinning. “Just gets worse and worse.” She laughed, more from delirious exhaustion than anything else. He clapped his hands together, almost like he'd just remembered something he'd been forgetting. “Well, guess we better start getting everything put away,” he said. She nodded and put her shoes back on. She got up and, together, the two of them put up all the chairs and swept the dining area. In the back of house, she could hear Tiny and Slash groaning through their own cleanup duties. Their dishwasher was out with a bad case of jail, same as everyone else, and there was literally a restaurant's worth of dishes that needed to be cleaned still before they all went home for the night. After Rat and she were done with the dining area, they headed in back to help with everything. All through it, Lacey marveled at how, even though she was bone-deep weary, and about to collapse on her feet, she still felt accomplished. Like she and the rest of the guys had pulled together like a team. Sure, it wasn't climbing Mount Everest or anything, but it was still more than she'd done lately. And, to her at least, it mattered. A couple hours later, this time with more laughing and horsing around than before, and they were all standing around staring at a perfectly clean kitchen. Sure, they were finished a couple hours later than they normally would have been, but given the circumstances it was a win. “Alright,” Tiny said, stumbling a little. “That's it for me.” “Yup, yup, yup,” Rat agreed. “I don't wanna see another dirty dish long as I live.” “Maybe now you'll be more appreciative of Slim's work,” Slash said with a chuckle. Slim was their dishwasher. Rat put his hand over his heart. “I ain't ever gonna say shit about how Slim does his job, I fucking promise on my granny's grave.”

“Believe it when I see it,” Tiny grumbled, but with a knowing grin on his face. “You guys get on outta here,” Slash said, waving them both off, “We'll lock up and see you at the clubhouse in a bit.” “Ain't gonna argue with that,” Tiny said, sounding winded and beat half to death. He immediately turned to the front door and pushed through. “See y'all in a bit,” he said back over his shoulder. “Yup,” Rat said, seconding his sentiments as he followed right on Tiny's heels. “We'll have a cold one for y'all. Promise.” After both men had left, Slash turned to her. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but she could see something else, something that resided even deeper. “I wanted to thank you,” Slash said, after a while, his voice low and smooth. He took a step or two, coming closer to her. There had been something about the way they'd worked together. He'd known what order she was about to put in before she'd even mentioned them. He'd have a table's food ready just when she needed the most. And, somehow, she'd known exactly when he was about to tell her something was low or running out. It was like they were in the same head-space during their shift, like they were working from the same consciousness. It had been almost magical. And, she could almost feel it now, that same sense of connection from when they'd been turning tables together. “For what?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. “Not letting me give in, for one,” he said, taking another step closer to her. “And, second, for your help.” That connection was greater than just mind reading, though. She could tell from the way his hips were, how he held his hands, and cocked his head that he had a special way to thank her. “Yeah?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. “Yeah,” he agreed, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She didn't resist. His arms were like steel cords, despite his exhaustion, and she felt safe and under his power at the same time. She gazed up at him, her lips parted. She'd never wanted a man as badly as she wanted Slash in that moment. He reached up, brushed hair out of her eyes, and trailed a fingertip down her cheek. She licked her lips as he made her wait. She just wanted to feel his mouth on hers, to feel his hands on her body. “Thank you,” he said again, lowering his lips to hers. She groaned as his lips crushed hers, as he pulled her into his body. She felt light as a feather in his arms. She knew she could collapse right then, and he'd have more than enough strength for both of them. As they kissed, she could feel him beginning to harden against her belly. She wanted him to show her just how thankful he was, and do it in the most pleasurable way possible.

He opened his mouth a little, ran his tongue over her lips as his hands went lower and grabbed her tight jeans-clad butt. She opened her mouth, inviting him in. He didn't need much of an invitation, though. They kissed like that, in the kitchen, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. His lips broke away from hers and traveled down her neck as he began to tug at the hem of her shirt. Finally, good sense began to take hold of her, no matter how badly she wanted this. “Slash,” she said as he began to pull her top over her head, “we can't do this here. What if someone walks in?” “Who's gonna walk in?” he growled. “I'm the owner, remember?” She giggled as he pulled her shirt up over her head with one hand and began to unsnap her jeans with the other. “Slash!” she squealed again. “What?” he asked, his rough paw of a hand finding her crotch. Pleasure radiated through her body, and her knees went weak as she let loose a little moan. She wobbled a little, but Slash's hand kept her standing as she leaned a hip up against the central prep table. “Like that?” he asked as he continued to stroke the front of her jeans, and the fires raging inside her. He ran his callused hands over her body, massaging and kneading her bare skin. “God yes,” she purred back, pressing herself into his hand as she put an arm around him. With her free hand, she reached down and unzipped the front of her jeans. He kissed her again as his hand slipped down the front of her panties, finding her sensitive little clit. She moaned as she sucked his tongue into her mouth and thrust her hips into his expert fingers. She wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to feel his hardness filling her. She reached down and stroked him through the front of his loose-fitting chef pants, stroking him lightly. He growled low in his throat as began to tug her pants down the swell of her hips. She'd never wanted to be out jeans so badly in her life. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled and shimmied, helping him to get her out of the confining denim. Together they worked them off her as he continued to cover her body in burning hot kisses, his teeth nipping at her skin. Soon, her jeans were pooled at her ankles, and she kicked them off from around her feet. “How do you want it?” he asked, that throaty growl filling her ears as his hands traveled over her nearly naked body. She reached down, stroked him with her small, delicate hand, then turned and bent over the prep counter, putting herself in the air. He dropped down behind her, and she could feel of his hot breath coming from behind. She spread her legs for him, widening her stance. The metal was cold, icy against her skin. She felt so deliciously wrong doing this here, of all places. More hot breath as his hand began to travel slowly up the inside of her thigh. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second, even without him doing anything. She moaned softly as she felt his breath on her sensitive lips. He began to slowly lick her, parting her folds with his tongue. She pushed back as she leaned forward, moaning as ecstasy began to slowly creep through her body. She could feel his tongue slip inside her, could feel it as it began to trace her lips and travel up to her starved-for-attention clit. He began to slowly, deliberately tickle the spot just below her clit, just off-center, with the tip of his tongue.

Her whole body tensed and shook as pleasure erupted inside her. It was like liquid heat, running through her veins, threatening to pour out of her body, as he deftly began to bring her to her first orgasm. He slid a finger just inside her and found her g-spot. She erupted, then. “Oh, Slash,” she cried, pushing herself back onto his hand and mouth, “oh, right there.” She nearly squealed as she felt her orgasm build inside her. Her body shook almost uncontrollably. He kept licking and kept rubbing her, not changing his movements or speed one bit. She felt her abs contracts, felt her body quake, as she came on his hand and tongue. She cried out, pushing back into him. He released her from her pleasurable torment, then, and slid his body up the backside of hers. Rough cotton, work-hardened muscle, and firm hands slid over her naked body. She went to move, to turn around to kiss him, but he put a hand gently, firmly, on her back. She sucked in a sharp, gasping breath and stayed where she was, not needing his words to tell her what he intended to do. Still bent over the table, with her ass stuck out to him, she heard his pants drop to the floor. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down her slit, parting her lips as he traced it up and down them. Nearly panting with excitement, she bit her lower lip and held back the urge to just backwards onto his manhood, to impale herself on his hardness. God, she wanted to, she wanted to so badly. He ran a hand over her ass, rubbed it teasingly, squeezed, and ran it up over her lower back until he landed on the latch of her bra. She looked back over her shoulder. “You just gonna play with me?” “Not quite,” he said as he reached up and unsnapped her bra. His hand traveled down beneath, ran up and over her flat stomach till it reached a pendulous breast. He lightly tweaked her sensitive nipple and rubbed his palm over the sensitive nub. “Slash,” she groaned as she pushed her breast into his hand, filling it with her flesh. She pushed backwards, trying to slide onto him. At this point, and with how much he'd been teasing her, just the tip would be more than enough. His hand left trails of fire behind it as he crisscrossed her body, teasing her till she was practically begging for him to be inside her. He heard her pleas, though, and grabbed hold of her hips. He reached down between them and guided himself to her slick opening. She bit her lower lip, her breath coming hard and fast as her body anticipated what would come next. She needed this, needed it so badly. He pushed forward with his hips as he pulled her backwards onto his hard length. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she arched her back until her hands came up from where they'd been planted on the table and her bra slipped to the floor. “Do you like that?” he growled, his hand coming around to cup a full breast again. She nodded. “Y-y-yes,” she panted out as she felt herself filled with his warm hard length. She pushed back against him, encouraging him to go faster and deeper. She stroked herself up and down his shaft, craving more of his manhood. He pinched her nipple, tweaking it hard again as he pushed her forward, back onto the table.

She planted both hands firmly again as she pushed herself against him, grinding herself on his cock. “Harder,” she plead. “Fuck me like you mean it.” Letting her breast drop, her grabbed both hips and pulled her, slowly at first, back onto his hard cock, stretching her fully. “You're still so tight,” he growled as he bottomed out inside her. “Please, just fuck me deep, Slash!” she groaned. “Make me yours tonight!” He pulled her more roughly off his cock, then slammed her back on. She squawked in surprise as he rammed inside her, but the pleasure she felt filled her mouth and nothing but a dry gasp came out. He savagely pulled her on and off his cock, his hips slamming into hers as she braced against the prep table. “Do you like that?” he asked in that sultry growl of his, his words rising above the sound of their bodies coming together, “Do you love how I feel inside you?” “God yes,” she moaned, her head flung back. She could feel another orgasm, a giant white light of pleasure, tumbling towards her. Her legs were shaking her, body was sweating, and her consciousness seemed like it had been shoved from her body as the impending climax grew and grew inside. She growled like an animal, begged him to fuck her harder and harder. He pounded into her mercilessly, nearly moving the bolted down table as he plowed into her from behind. The bubble of warmth and carnal pressure loomed in front of her, so palpable she imagined she could just reach up and grab it from the sky. Her whole body cried out for this release, prayed for it, as Slash had his way with her. At this moment, she needed this more than anything she'd ever needed. “I'm coming,” Slash announced, picking up the pace as he went to finish himself off. Her whole body shook as he exploded inside her, filling her insides with his warmth. That bubble of heaven burst inside her body just as he did, and her mind filled with the heat of a volcano as she tightened and clenched around his manhood. She would have collapsed to the tiled floor, if not for Slash's quick, strong arms that quickly swept her up and placed her on the prep table. The cold metal of the table was so soothing to her hot, naked skin. She lay there, catching her breath. Slash went to pull out, but she could feel how hard he was still. “Please,” she groaned, “finish.” She saw him grin and shake his head as he continued to stroke in and out of her, his own eyes nearly rolling back as he rode out the last of his orgasm. She flexed herself around him, catching and stroking him as best she could with her insides. It was the closest to a ‘thank you’ she could manage for the best orgasm she'd ever had in her life. By the time, he was completely soft again, Lacey was more than recovered. He pulled out of her and tucked himself away as she gathered up her clothes from the floor and table. He pulled her into his embrace, kissed her. Their tongues swirled around each other, again. But, Lacey felt this kiss was somehow different. More complete than it had been before. She realized that their first kiss,

just a little while ago, had felt the same. Something had changed between them, after this shift they'd just worked together. Something had shifted, become more complete. And, even though Lacey was just coming out of the awful nightmare what was life with Wayne Walker, she knew that, somehow, she'd finally made the right choice.

Chapter 29 Slash They rode back to the Battleborn clubhouse. The setting sun hung low in the western sky, warming them as they made their way down the back roads. Slash's head reeled from all the contradictions happening in his life. Lacey's arms wrapped tight around his body as she clung to the back of the bike, and he felt dizzy with newfound emotions. He was with her: literally, the girl of his dreams. After nearly a decade of pining after her, of trying to forget her and put her from his mind, he had her. But the universe couldn’t simply let him have just this one thing. Instead, it had to pile misery upon his contentment. When he'd spoken to Sherman earlier in the day the lawyer had laid it out for him. None of his guys were coming home. Not anytime soon, at least. And the cost of keeping up with all this was rising by the day. Soon, the MC would be tapped on cash. They wouldn't have the money to smoothly transition from gangsters to legitimate businessmen. Nor would they be able to afford the cost of the bail, if that even became available. Payments to the men's families would stop, and protection for the guys on the inside would cease. Everything seemed to be unraveling right before his eyes. He hadn't said anything to Rat, Tiny, or Lacey. He hadn't wanted to burden them with such a bleak outlook, especially since he desperately needed them to be focused and in the moment. He also couldn't have them curl up in a ball and give up, like he almost had that morning. As he pulled into the nearly deserted clubhouse lot, he realized that he would have to tell them something, though. The situation was untenable. Dire, even. Rat and Tiny deserved to know what the future likely held in store for them. They had the right to choose their own destiny. That's what an MC was about. You take away a man's free will, you make him into a cog in a machine and just another walking corpse. You strip away his ability to choose, and you strip away what made him a man in the first place. “Hey,” Lacey said as they climbed off the bike. Before he could respond, she'd slipped her arms beneath his jacket and pulled herself close to him. His chest swelled with emotion as she wrapped herself around him and snuggled up close. He realized she'd used some fruity shampoo, probably left behind by one of the club girls in his shower, and her hair smelled like peaches. “Hey, yourself,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and just holding her. She pulled back a little so she could look up at him. “I really care about you,” she said. “You know that, right?” He was actually a little surprised that she felt she had to tell him. But, it was still nice to hear. “Yeah,” he said, resting a hand on the back of her head, “I know, babe,” he said as he massaged her neck lightly, “I know.”

“And, whatever happens,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate, “I want you by my side.” He listened to her words, taking them in. He nodded. He wanted to tell her he loved her, wanted to spill his guts and just put his emotions and needs into words. He froze as he remembered what had happened all those years ago when he'd put the choice in front of her. Worried about the past repeating itself, he kept a lid on the words he wanted to say and just smiled, instead. “I know,” he said. “Me too.” Even though they weren't the words he desperately wanted to use, they were good enough for her. She stood on tip toes and kissed him, embraced him tightly. He held her head against his chest, his heart racing double-time. Even as he cradled her to him, his eyes swept out over the nearly deserted parking lot, at the spaces that had once been filled with bikes. He leaned down, kissed the top of her head, and patted her ass with a free hand. “Ready to head in?” “Yeah,” she chirped, her voice chipper and upbeat, as she released him. “What do we have planned for tonight?” “Dinner, first,” he said as he headed inside, holding the door open for her. They went into the nearly silent clubhouse, with her in the lead. He could hear Tiny and Rat in the rec room, speaking in hushed tones like they were graveyard visitors wary of waking ghosts. They were both leaning forward, intently discussing the MC's options over beers. “I just dunno,” Tiny was saying as he and Lacey entered the room, “I think we should go in and get the fucker.” “Nah,” Rat replied, shaking his head furiously, “rule one: don't kill the cops.” “Ain't a cop, he's a lawyer,” Tiny retorted. “Technically,” Slash interjected as he walked up, “he's an officer of the court, which means it's a shit load worse than just killing a cop. You'll bring down the feebs and God knows what else, we do that.” “Feebs?” Lacey asked, confusion in her voice and on her face. “FBI,” Rat supplied. “Worse than the DEA, not as bad as the CIA.” “Why's the CIA worse?” Lacey asked. “Cause, if the CIA's coming after you,” Slash answered, “you probably did way worse than just killing a prosecutor.” “Well, what should we do, then?” Slash took a breath. This was the time, this was the moment. He had to bite the bullet, had to let them all down. There was a bitter pill, and someone needed to swallow it. As the president of the MC, it was his job. Just then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He kept his mouth shut and fished it out. It was a message from an unknown number. “Been thinking, Dustin. Think I screwed up. Call me. WW.”

He couldn't believe his eyes. There was no way Wayne was calling for a truce. Maybe, though, he'd seen the way they handled Fresh B & B almost getting shut down, and it had changed his mind on whether or not he could win. Or, perhaps, something else had changed his mind. Whatever it was, maybe this was an opportunity. He couldn't say anything to the others, not yet. Not until he knew for sure what Wayne was up to. He was already giving them false hope by not completely leveling with them. What was worse was that he was no disregarding the promise he’d made to Lacey. He'd said he'd put an end to Wayne, to his abuses, that he'd make sure he never hurt another woman. He couldn't go back on those words, could he? He warred with himself in that split second. He could make this work. He could form a truce with Wayne, if that's what it came down to, if it at least meant he could get his boys back and get some breathing room. Once he had the Battleborn whole again, had them back on their original path to legitimacy, he'd end it with Wayne. He'd come out of nowhere with his attack, too. Just like that, it was decided. “Slash?” Tiny asked him as he stared quizzically down at his phone. “You okay, brother?” “Huh?” Slash asked, his eloquence knowing no bounds as he looked up at his second-in-command. “Just looked like you were about to say something, that's all.” “Nope,” Slash replied, shaking his head. “Got nothing, man.” A concerned look passed over Tiny's face like a cloud over the moon. There one moment, gone the next. “Cool,” he said. “Why don't you guys grab some beers, and we'll talk about all this?” “Sure,” Slash said, nodding. “I'm gonna duck into the bedroom real quick and get cleaned up, first.” He turned to Lacey and, with a hand on her lower back, gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Grab a cold one for me, babe,” he said, then stomped off deeper into the silent clubhouse to make a phone call. Slash went into his bathroom, locked the door behind him, and turned on the shower. Hopefully, the running shower would throw Lacey and the others off his scent. He dialed the number the text had been sent from and pressed the phone to his ear. Then, he waited. The phone only had a chance to ring twice before it was picked up on the other line. “Dustin?” Wayne asked on the other end. “That you?” “Yeah,” Slash growled. “Got your text.” “Good,” Wayne said, just as jolly as he had been back in the Fresh B & B the day before. “Haven't changed one bit. Still prompt, still razor focused.” “You wanted to talk about a truce? Or you wanna spend your time running your mouth, Wayne?” “Oh, that's right! You're calling about the truce. Well, believe me, I've got a deal that I'm certain we'll all be more than happy with.” “Spill it then. Ain't got time for this bullshit.”

“Well, it occurred to me that getting you guys, tearing you all apart. That might be fun, gratifying even,” Wayne said, his tone completely conversational. “But, I thought to myself, 'Wayne, is that all you really want? To see Dustin rotting in a jail cell somewhere?' It occurred to me, though, after you and my little whore of an ex-fiancée managed to pull off a shift at Fresh, that brotherhood is what really matters to you bikers. How it's all about trusting the man next to you.” “Okay. Your point?” “Here it is. You know who the Lightning Kings are, right?” “Course I do. They're our biggest rivals in the area. What about 'em?” “I want you to testify against them. Do that for me, and I'll give you and your crew immunity, leave Lacey alone, and we'll pretend everything is just water under the bridge. Hell, you can leave town and take her with you, even. But I want the Lightning Kings.” Slash bit his lip, stayed silent. He couldn't speak out against them in court. The Battleborn would tear his patch off his vest in a heartbeat for bringing the cops into a rivalry like this, for turning state's witness. At the same time, though, he couldn't sit back and do nothing. Wayne had practically already won, anyway. What was he going to do, fight it out in the courts? He was already at the end of his rope on that front. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you offering me this, now?” “Because you wouldn't do it otherwise. Know why I'm going after the Battleborn and not just you, Dustin? It's because it'll look good for the papers when I go for the big chair, and later run for judge. I don't give a shit if it's the Battleborn I grind under, or the Lightning Kings. You're all little fish to me, anyways. But, boy, does the public love it when a big bad biker gang gets put away. Besides, I get what I want out of this, anyway.” “Which is ...?” Wayne laughed into the phone. “Well, you suffer either way, big guy. Don't testify, I dismantle your crew and send you all to prison. Well, keep them there, at least. Testify, and none of your brothers, or any other biker, will ever have anything to do with you. No matter which option you choose, you're screwed.” “I need time to think about this,” Slash said, his head spinning from this new option. “I need you to show me you're not just bullshitting around.” “How about I give you till tomorrow afternoon? Three o'clock, down in that old park we used to drink beer in on Friday nights?” “Parr?” “That's the one, I think. In the meantime, I'll call and talk to your lawyer, Sherman. I'll let him know I'll stop protesting his bail requests, and we'll get your guys already in moved up on the dockets and released. How does that sound?”

“Yeah,” Slash said, the world seeming to rush by, “yeah, start working something out. I still need time to think about this, though.” “I know, Dustin, I know. You're going to be betraying everything you believe in, right?” Wayne asked with a laugh. “I mean, of course you're going to have second thoughts. But, just remember, you decide to go back on this deal, this all starts over again. You've seen what I can do with just one phone call.” There was a knock at the door. “Slash, sweetie?” Lacey called through the door. “You alright in there?” “Just a second, babe,” Slash grumbled back, his thumb over the phone's receiver. “Don't be late, Dustin,” Wayne said, a touch of the familiar cruelty in his voice. “Deal expires at three-ohone tomorrow.” “Yeah,” Slash mumbled. Then the line was dead. Slash tucked his phone away in his pocket, took a deep breath, and considered what had just happened. He'd just been offered a way out. A light at the end of the tunnel. He looked at himself in the mirror, looked at the scars that were etched out over his body, the scars that traced over his flesh like a history written in blood and sinew. If he did this, if he ratted on the Lightning Kings, he'd be out of the Battleborn, and he'd have broken his word to Lacey. If he didn't do it, he'd eventually wind up in a cell, four feet by eight, constantly looking over his shoulder for a Lightning King hitman, or worse. He reached up, touched his cheek. Could he do this? Could he turn rat? Or, looking at it in a different way, could he sacrifice everything to save his crew? He'd still end up with the girl, this way. But if her feelings for him were tied to this vest, to this lifestyle, he might lose her, too. A thought occurred to him. There could be an alternative. He had to talk to his lawyer first, though, to see how well it would hold up in court. “Maybe. maybe,” he said into the mirror as he allowed himself a small smile, “there's a way out.” “Babe?” Lacey called from his bunk. “You okay in there?” “Just talking to myself,” he called back. “You're not losing it from the stress, are you?” she asked, a note of humor in her voice. “Not yet,” he said, grinning at himself in the mirror. He stripped down the rest of the way and hopped in the shower. Phone call, or not, he still needed to get the grime of this day off.

Chapter 30 Lacey Lacey sat in Slash's bed with pillows against the headboard propping her up. She'd grabbed a thin book off his shelf and started to read, trying to unwind down the evening. But, the words all seemed to twist inside her, warring with the thoughts and memories of the evening. Something about all of this didn't seem right. But, whatever it was, she couldn't put her thumb on it. That night, she and the remaining Battleborn had discussed the future. The three men reluctantly voted to keep Fresh B & B closed for the next couple of days, at least until they knew when their men would be free. Slash, for his part, was strangely confident about that. He said it would just be a matter of time till the guys got out, that his lawyer was moving ahead on everything. Tiny had seemed as surprised as Lacey by the turn of events. “You serious?” he'd asked, brightening up a little. “You mean the boys are really going to come home?” “Matter of time, that's all,” Slash had assured him. He'd seemed unhappier about it than he should have, though. “Sherman said the wheels are moving, but they move slower than we think. But, yeah, it's all in the works to get 'em out. Just gotta post bail on some of them.” Lacey had caught his eye during the meeting, and she had her own doubts about what was going on. In the days she'd been there, she'd readjusted to this new, older man, but she'd also learned how similar he was to the younger one she'd known all those years ago. And, to her mind, something about him just didn't seem right. She knew he was telling the truth. But she could also see that he wasn't being completely forthcoming about everything. It was like he was holding back something, but she couldn't be sure of exactly what. “Well, that's a real good job on that front,” Rat piped up as he slurped down more beer. “Real nice, right there.” “Yeah,” Tiny agreed, laughing and clapping Slash on the back. “Fuck yeah! I mean, we just gotta give it time, right?” “Right,” Slash said, grinning. In light of things they voted unanimously to keep the restaurant closed for the time being. Now, as she waited for Slash to crawl into bed with her, her thoughts wandered back over the years, through all the murk of her college tenure, and all the bad times with Wayne. They settled on the last time she'd seen Slash before just a few days ago, back in the days when he was still just plain old Dustin Riley. He'd been an office attendant, then, and was responsible for sending the requests from counselors and the like down to the students. They'd write one up, and he'd go get them. She remembered with a smile, though, that he'd palmed a pad of them from the administrative office at the beginning of their senior year. She should have suspected the beginnings of his criminal inclinations, even back then.

He'd use the stack of hall passes to get her and Wayne out of boring classes so they could go wander the school, or go sneak underneath the bleachers in the auditorium and just hang out. Sometimes just hanging out with your friends and doing nothing was better than sitting through a boring lecture in civics. One day, towards the end of school, he'd snuck her out of class with a hall pass from the office. He didn't get Wayne, though, just her. She hadn't known it at the time, but he was taking her there to tell her something in private. He'd made a mistake, however. Wayne had seen them through the window as they passed one of his classes. He'd asked to go to the nurse's office a little while later, then slipped after them. Back then he’d had taken her hand. Held it tight, so tight. She remembered how his palms were sweating. She'd thought it was weird at the time, but now she knew he was just nervous. They were sitting close together, and he'd looked into her eyes. He whispered those words to her: “I love you.” Then, they'd kissed. Their first kiss. Then Wayne had appeared. He'd seen it all and started screaming. The boys got into a fight, with Dustin trying to calm him down and protect himself. Wayne had knocked him back, over a metal support bar. Unfortunately, his leg was still up over the beam, caught like a branch against a tree. Wayne's eyes were filled with blood-shot rage, the kind of rage only a madman could put off. He stomped down, snapping Dustin's thigh like kindling. Even now, almost ten years later, the sound of that crack haunted Lacey as she thought back on it. She shivered at the memory, of how she'd had to pull Wayne off him. What followed, the lies from Wayne, the threats to the school from his father if they tried to punish him, everything had been swept beneath the rug. Including Dustin. Looking back, she knew what was happening was wrong, but she’d been helpless. How could she, one lone girl, make a difference in the grand scheme of things? So, she'd backed Wayne Walker's side, and his father's. She kept her mouth shut, and watched as one of her best friends in the whole world was suspended and kept from walking across the stage for graduation. Slash came in from the bathroom and crawled into bed beside her, jarring her from her depressing trip down memory lane. “How's the book?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms. “Not really paying much attention to it,” she said, honestly. “Thinking about the last time we saw each other. Back in school, I mean.” “Yeah,” he said as she leaned her head against his chest. “Probably not a good thing to think about it. Happened in the past. Should stay that way.” Guilt gnawed away at her, guilt about the way Slash had been treated afterward. “I never told anyone about what happened down there,” she replied, suddenly beginning to grow sleepy as she settled into his arms and the security they offered. “Really happened. About how Wayne broke your leg like that when you refused to fight him.” “Told you I'd rather not talk about this,” he said with a sigh. “It's not something I really want to relive.” “I should have just said something, should have backed up your story,” she continued, fighting back a yawn. “I'm just, I'm really sorry. I never would have been with him if ... Just, maybe I would have chosen a different path, is all.” She closed her eyes and let the sound of his thumping heartbeat begin to lull her to

sleep. “Honestly,” he said with a deep sigh, “I'm almost happy it happened. Sure, I got fucked over by the school, but it really helped me put some things in perspective and led me here. It sucked when I was going through it, but I'd hate to know what I might have become. Besides, you and I wouldn't have lasted. Not like I was.” Her lips twisted up in a little smile as he tried to push the past back into its rightful place. “But, were you serious?” she asked, her words slurred with exhaustion. “About what you told me before he showed up?” “That ... that I cared about you?” “I don't remember you using that word exactly,” she said as she began to feel herself slipping away into sleep. “Fine,” he said, his words sounding like they were miles away, in a different world even. “That I loved you?” “Yeah,” she whispered. But, before she could hear her words, she'd drifted away. The exhaustion had become too much for her.

Chapter 31 Slash He woke early that morning, closer to his normal time, and left the still soundly sleeping Lacey in bed. He padded on bare feet into the kitchen and began sorting through everything he'd need for the picnic lunch he'd planned as his coffee brewed, his surprisingly well-rested mind going through the hundred ways this day could end. He'd slipped away after his conversation with Wayne and called the lawyers to check on a few things. What Wayne had said about Big Jim's and Jerry's cases being swapped around and shuffled higher was true. It looked like Jerry's charges might even be dropped. Also, Sherman had been given the impression that the DA wouldn't be challenging him at bail hearings. From the impressions he'd been receiving, it sounded like the DA suddenly wanted to play ball. Then Slash had told him about the deal Wayne wanted to talk about. Sherman advised him in the predictable way: he needed to take the deal, particularly if it was going to guarantee his men would stay out. Any guarantee that they could avoid any kind of prosecution was clearly the best option available, no matter what the consequences were personally. “But,” he'd said, “that's just me speaking as a lawyer regarding the law. I've known you guys, and other MCs, long enough to know that it's not a very good idea, Slash. I’m not saying this as a lawyer, mind you. Just as another guy on the street.” Slash had floated the other idea he had. What about recording the conversation? No, their state didn't have laws against non-consent recording between two parties, as long as one party clearly consented. He could record Wayne but, ideally, any conversation he had with the assistant DA should be had with Sherman there. “But, come on Sherman, you know he ain't gonna say anything around you. Not about all this shit.” “Well, no, of course he won't. But, that's my legal advice, strictly speaking. And, remember, that's what you pay me for. Even if you are calling me at home, and I'm billing you double.” “Yeah, yeah,” Slash had said. “I know, man. I know.” They ended the call after that. Slash didn't relish the idea of racking up any more time with the legal geek than he could afford. Then there'd been the conversation with Lacey moments after he crawled into bed. He'd almost said it, then. Said those deadly three words that had gotten him into so much trouble all those years ago. Sitting there at the prep table now, perched on his bar stool, he regretted that he hadn't said them. It never felt like the right time. But when was a right time, if not then? He ran a hand down his face. If he agreed to Wayne's deal, and testified against the Lightning Kings, he'd be betraying her and his MC. The MC would be saved, but Lacey would be hurt. She'd have had yet another promise broken to her by a man in her life.

If his plan worked, and he could get Wayne to admit what he'd done on recording by tricking him somehow into letting slip the abuses he'd piled on Lacey and the unfair harassment he'd unleashed on the Battleborn, then this would all be over. She'd be free. Free to pursue the life that had been interrupted by a series of poor choices, free to go back to school, to do charity work. Would she stay with him, then? A skeezy biker that only fucked club girls and talked more with his fists than his words, who lived on the edge of legitimacy? Or was he only offering her security, a sense of protection from Wayne? Was he just the port in the midst of this vengeful storm? Slash shook his head. He didn't know. He wasn't a mind reader. The only thing he did know was that in about nine hours, he was going to have a meeting with fate. Another meeting with Wayne, completely unscripted and unsupervised, where Slash had to trick him into spilling his deepest, darkest secrets in an effort to create incriminating evidence. Either that or he’d end up agreeing to testify against a rival gang. He gripped his coffee mug so tight he almost shattered the ceramic in his hands. This was a fool's quest. Something for a bad Steven Segal film. What happened out at that park would determine how the rest of their lives would turn out, for good or ill. With that thought in mind, he rose from his bar stool and went back to doing what he'd intended to do when he came into the kitchen. He began preparing his picnic lunch that he wanted to have with Lacey, putting everything in order so he could surprise her. He wanted to make sure that what little time he might have left with her was memorable. Maybe, when she looked back on this afternoon after everything had come to its final end, she'd be able to smile as she thought about him. Not as an afterthought, but as one of the bright spots in the dark days she'd had to endure during her life with Wayne Walker. # # # Once she'd gotten up and moving, Lacey was more than happy to hop on the back of his bike and go for a ride through the nearby woods. Normally, he'd go for these late morning rides on his own, and use them as a time to clear his head. This time, though, he'd packed up everything he'd prepared earlier, in the hopes of surprising her. The morning was beautiful. The sun was warm, but if you caught a little bit of shade you could feel the cool air as it brushed over your skin. It was a perfect day for a ride, and they took their time finding their way down the various winding back roads of the countryside. Lacey clung to his back, her slender arms around his bulkier frame. He found himself sighing, relaxing from the all the stress of the week, despite the fact that he was meant to meet Wayne Walker later that day. He knew that, one way or another, everything would come down to that meeting. Strangely, though, he felt a sort of calm, a sense of peace about himself. This appointment was inevitable, unavoidable. Struggling against it, and being anxious about the whole thing wouldn't do him any good. After about an hour or so on the bike, with both of them just taking in the scenery, Slash pulled over on the side of the road near a break in the trees. A cacophony of vivid greens erupted around them, and the sense of fresh, new life filled the air. Slash could feel it deep down in his lungs, and deeper still into the core of his being. “Why are we stopping?” Lacey asked.

He killed the engine and put up the kickstand. “Wanna show you something, that's all.” They climbed down off the bike together and set to grabbing all the stuff for their picnic from his saddlebags. “What's this?” she asked in a surprised tone as he piled up fruit, sandwiches, and cheeses in her arms. He pulled the blanket from his bad and draped it over the seat while he closed his saddlebag back up. “It's a picnic,” he said. “What does it look like?” “A picnic?” she asked, her eyes flashing with excitement. “I can't even remember the last time I had a picnic!” He grinned as he grabbed most of the food from her. “Well, I've never had much reason for 'em. But, well, you weren't around.” She smiled up at him. “Is this why you woke up so early?” He laughed and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “No, I normally get up that early. But, yeah, it's when I put everything together. Now, come on.” His arms full, he headed out to a small path through the nearby trees. A small wire fence lay trampled into the edge of the forest floor here, marking it as someone's property. In all the time Slash had been coming out this way, he'd never encountered another human being. He'd found this spot a few years before when he was out tramping through the forest by himself, he explained as they followed a faint deer trail through the trees and underbrush. He'd never brought anyone else out this way. Not any of the guys, and definitely not any of the club girls. “So, this is sort of your Fortress of Solitude, then?” she asked. He laughed. “I wouldn't exactly compare me to Superman, or anything. But, yeah, I guess I use it as a way to get away from the clubhouse, from the restaurant. Take a long ride, chill out here with a book. I like it.” “Well,” Lacey said as she squeezed his hand, “I don't think you're much of a Clark Kent, that's for sure.” They followed the path as it rose up through the trees on a shallow incline, twisting back and forth as it led them up a small hill. The trees here were old, and the whole place smelled of musty damp. Around them, the trees were nearly silent except for the occasional bird call. “Ever see any animals out here?” “Rabbits mostly,” he said. “I don't normally come out here at the right time for deer, but I can see their signs.” She laughed, her voice musical and lilting. “You can track wild animals now?” He laughed and shook his head as he offered her a hand to climb over a fallen log. “My dad taught me how to read them, a little at least. Needed to be able to see where they fed if you wanted to come back

and shoot them.” She frowned a little. “Ain't like we shot Bambi or anything,” he said, grinning, as he reached up and grabbed her arm. “That's not funny.” She stuck her tongue out at him “I loved that movie when I was kid.” “Oh, I'm just messing with you,” he said, squeezing her upper arm. They turned back and kept following the path, heading up to the top of the hill. The trees thinned as they went higher, with less and less trees being able to root themselves in the increasingly steep soil. Their twisted roots threaded throughout the top soil, and the two of them had to watch their step as they made their way up. Eventually, they crested the top and broke through the trees. Lacey gasped a little as she took in the sight. The hill spread out around them, with its one lone oak rooted in the near center, and soft, knee high grass that spread out over the top like a lush carpet. The scenery, though, was what Slash loved about this place. It was easy to forget that their hometown sat in a valley, practically surrounded on all sides by hills. The small town spread out before them. Everything from the church downtown, with its towering steeple, to the old high school they'd spent so much time together in, which was now closed and set to be soon torn down. If you knew where to look, like Slash did, you could even see Fresh B & B, just off Main Street. “It's so beautiful from up here,” Lacey said, her hand covering her mouth. Up here, everything seemed so distant, like all your problems were miles and miles away. It was a picture perfect, scenic spot. He could spend hours up here, just sitting below the big oak, breathing in nature. “You like it, then?” he asked as he headed over to the oak tree and set everything down against the trunk. “God, it's just so wonderful,” she said, following after him. He grabbed the blanket and began to unfold it, then unfurled it and laid it flat on the tall grass. Immediately, it began to settle and lay flat. “Oh, Slash,” she said, coming over and putting her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For what?” he asked. “For the picnic?” “For everything. This all started off as the worst day of my life, and now I think it's turned into one of the best weeks.” He tilted her chin up, bringing her eyes up to his. “Despite everything,” he said, “it's been a pretty damn good week for me, too.” They pressed their lips together and kissed, and anyone who saw them would have identified them as young lovers immediately. The way that two lost people can kiss as they cling together, desperately trying to find something bigger than themselves. Their lips parted from one another, and they smiled at each other.

Lacey's stomach grumbled. “So, you packed lunch for us?” she asked, and they both laughed. “Yeah, have a seat,” he said, releasing her and bending down to the array of sealed plastic bags and containers. “It's been a while since I had to pack a picnic, so I wasn't exactly sure what to bring,” he explained as began to hand her food. “It looks wonderful,” she said as she began to unwrap sandwiches and open containers of potato salad. “I'm sure it'll be perfect.” With the food distributed, Slash sat down next to her and they began to eat. In between bites, they talked about their childhood and reminisced about high school. The teachers they'd liked, the ones they couldn't stand. Their conversation absent was any discussion of Wayne Walker, or the events of that afternoon beneath the bleachers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this content. Before Lacey had come back into his life, he'd just gone from work to the clubhouse. Sure, they'd throw the weekly party, and he'd have someone to warm his bed, but even that felt hollow. Like he was just living a part, one of the big biker dudes that would fuck the girl then toss her out the next morning. Here, up on this hilltop with the world spread out below him, he felt alive. And, even though he had a date with destiny in just a few short hours, he felt wonderful. Besides, what more could he ask for of a spring day? He'd had his coffee, gotten a bike ride in, and now he was sharing a meal with a beautiful woman as they surveyed the town below. What more could a rough and tumble biker ask for? Finished eating, Lacey relaxed back into Slash's arms, leaning her whole body against his. He circled himself around her as they both basked in the sun. “What do you really want out of life?” Lacey asked after a few moments of silence had passed. He shrugged. “Well,” he started, “I got most of what I want already. Not much more I could ask for.” “You're happy, then?” “Right now?” he asked as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah, I'd say so. What about you?” She considered her words. “I don't really know,” she said finally. “I enjoyed yesterday.” “The balls to the wall, insanely crazy, this-is-fucking-awful lunch rush?” She nodded and laughed. “Yeah, that. It was intense. Not exactly fun, or anything, but I at least felt accomplished at the end of the shift.” He laughed. “Well, maybe when this is all over and done with, we'll see what we can do about getting you on board.” She grinned. “I think I'd like that. It'd be a nice change of pace, I suppose.”

“Here,” he said as he shifted her around a little and pulled her into his lap. “What are you doing?” she asked as he swept her hair away from her neck. “Nothing,” he said. “Just getting comfortable.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, took a deep sighing breath. “Oh,” she moaned a little at the touch of his lips. Her round little behind, now situated in his lap, wiggled a little as she readjusted to the new seating arrangement. “Like that?” he asked, chuckling a little. “Maybe,” she said, coyly. “We probably shouldn't, though.” “Shouldn't what?” he asked and kissed and kissed her neck again, this time higher, closer to her ear. “This,” she said. But, he could hear her smiling through her words. His hands began to roam, seemingly of their own accord. The day had been warm, so she hadn't worn much more than a light top and tight jeans. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt, ran his palm across her flat midriff. He kissed her neck again, this time more wetly. “This?” he asked. “Slash,” she said, a note of warning in her voice, even as she tilted her head to the side to give him better access. She moaned a little louder than before as his hand rode a little higher beneath her shirt and brushed across her upper stomach. He could feel himself getting excited from all the warmth, and the wiggling, in his lap. Slowly, he was growing in size and beginning to press against her firm backside. “We really, really shouldn't,” she said again. “And you shouldn't be doing that either.” “This?” he asked as he reached higher beneath her shirt, making it ride up higher around her stomach, and cupped her breast. “Or this?” He ground himself into her backside and kissed her neck again, his tongue trailing over her hot skin. “Both,” she moaned, wiggling herself into his crotch and pressing herself into his hand. “Guess I'll just stop, then,” he said playfully. “Don't you dare,” she replied, her hand reaching down and grabbing the one he'd snuck beneath her top. She held it in place, making sure he couldn't retreat. “So many confusing signals,” he chided as his other hand slipped down between her legs and began to rub her mid inner thigh. “A guy just doesn't know what to think anymore.” “Just shut up and keep kissing my neck,” she said, moaning again as he slipped a big hand inside her bra and moved the other higher up her thigh. She reached up behind her and wrapped a hand around behind his head. Her fingers stroked his face, entangled themselves in his hair.

He tweaked her nipple, twisted it lightly between his fingers as she pressed herself into his hand. She pushed herself back into his crotch, grinding herself on his manhood. He'd grown to full size now. “That for me?” she whispered. “All for you, babe,” he growled back, pinching her nipple again as he said it. “Here,” he said, gesturing for her to get up. They both stood and, quick as lightning, their hands flew to each other. They began to pull off the other's clothes, stripping their bodies bare for all of nature to see. She looked just as beautiful in the warm sunlight, her skin creamy and perfect beneath its rays. Their clothes surrounded them in a scattered, haphazard circle, like a makeshift shrine to the two lovers. His hands ran over her smooth, firm body, kneading her flesh one moment, scratching with blunt nails the next as they kissed in the sunlight. His tongue slipped into her mouth, playfully flicking hers, as she worked her hand between them and found his cock pressed against her belly. She wrapped her slender fingers around his shaft and began to stroke, her thumb dipping into his pre-cum and swirling it around the head. Her grip felt amazing. So firm, yet so soft. After so few times together, it was like she knew every inch of his body now. He groaned into her mouth and tightened his grip on her as he bit her lower lip. She moaned and began to work her hand faster up and down his shaft. He broke away from the kiss. “Not yet,” he said, panting with desire. She grinned a little and released him. Her hand dipped lower and cupped his heavy balls, squeezed him gently. “That better?” He groaned. “Know what would be even better?” he asked. On cue, she began to slide down his body, her erect nipples brushing down his front. Her lips left a trail of kisses on his abs, all the way down the V they made at the bottom of his belly. Her breath was hot, bathing his cock in its warmth. He ran a hand through her hair, brushing the bangs from her eyes so he could watch as she slowly, deliberately began to slide her lips over him. She looked up at him as she took him in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head, flicked it on the bottom, and grazed her teeth lightly along on his shaft. He moaned again, his knees weakening as she bobbed her head, as she sucked lightly and swirled her tongue around his member. He tightened his hand in her hair, careful to not take away too much control from her. She moaned a little as his fingers wrapped themselves in her locks, pulled him from her mouth and began to slowly, languidly stroke her hand up and down his shaft. She dipped her mouth down the bottom side of him till she reached his heavy balls and began to give him a good tongue-lashing. “Goddamn, woman,” he breathed as he felt his balls swelling with a need for release. He could tell he was close already, but he wanted to make this moment last. “Don't make me cum, yet.” Grinning, she pulled her lips from their play, and smiled up at him. She beckoned him down to her with a crooked finger. “Well, come down here, then,” she said, sitting back on the blanket with her legs

outstretched in front of her. He joined her on the blanket, pulling her into him as he braced himself with one hand and ran the other over her body. His hand dipped down below her waist and found the treasure between her legs. She was gushing as he slipped a finger inside her. She raised her hips into his hand as she moaned beneath his lips. “Right there,” she groaned, moving herself on his fingers. He stroked in and out of her with his fingers, rubbing across her g-spot as his thumb deftly circled her clit. He bit her lower lip again, sucked it into his mouth as she began to shake under his attention. “Yeah,” she groaned again, her hips moving faster on his hand, “that's it.” Her whole body shook and rocked, tensed like she was at the end of a live electrical line. “That's it, Slash,” she nearly yelled. He watched as she shook and moaned, and he realized he'd never seen anything more beautiful than those wide-open, pleading, pleasure-filled eyes. She was in ecstasy, and he loved her. There was something about making the woman he loved cum like that, the way her whole body writhed beneath his touch. She spread her legs wider for him, kissed him again as she put her hand down below atop his. She lightly stroked her fingers over the back of his hand, then stopped and pulled them away. Her eyes were filled with need, with passion, as she silently told him what she wanted next. Before he could say anything, she reached down between his legs and grabbed his manhood and gently pulled it to her. He wrapped his arms around her and slid his body between her legs. He held her up as he guided his cock to her vulva. She lifted her pert ass up off the blanket, giving him a better angle as he began to slide into her. She was like velvet inside. Warm, wet, wanting. She wrapped about him like a tender vice as she slid into her, filling her with his hard flesh. He lowered his lips to hers and they kissed again, their bodies entwined as they moved against one another beneath the spring afternoon's sun. Lacey met each of his thrusts with one of her own, groaning as he went deeper and deeper with each stroke. She scratched her nails up and down his back, shaking and panting as he filled and emptied her in rapid pulses. Her nails were like fire as they gently tore at his skin. He didn't care, all he wanted was to feel like this forever, to feel like they were this close. His whole world seemed to disappear as they made love, as the pleasure overrode all sense of time and place. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pulled him in deeper. She moaned loudly into his mouth as he fucked her faster. “Dustin,” she groaned, “I'm so close.” He grabbed hold of her ass with one hand, nearly smacking it, as he pulled her more roughly onto him. She cried out as he continued to fill her, begging him for more. She tightened around him again, her limbs like steel beams as they clung to him. She cried out, her whole body arching in ecstasy on the blanket. Slash crushed her lips one more time as he, too, felt his pleasure build. He drove into her, holding himself as deep as he could, and moaned as he exploded. It was like he was truly alive for the first time ever, and a white heat filled him as he began to unload inside of her. They kissed again, their lips smacking wetly, as they both shook in rapture under the spring sun.

Spent, they collapsed onto the blanket, a mass of tangled limbs and limp muscles. He rolled off of her, tried desperately to catch his breath. Sweat covered his body, despite the cool breeze caressing his damp body. “Good?” he gasped. “Amazing,” she breathed. He rolled over and propped himself up one arm, still winded, and ran a hand over her naked body. He idly pulled at a nipple, and she ineffectually slapped at his hand in protest. Smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. She felt sacred under his touch, like something eternal and everlasting. No matter what happened later that day, he wanted to remember this moment, beneath the sun. She smiled up at him as she ran her hands over his chest, over the scars and tattoos that covered him. “Someday,” she whispered as she first touched one scar, then the next. “I want to know what all of these are from.” That day would have to wait. Off to the west, though, they heard a twig snap and break. “Hey,” called a voice, “what y'all doing on my land?” Lacey's eyes went wide. “Oh shit!” she squealed.

Chapter 32 Lacey Giggling like school kids, the pair ran back down the path through the woods. The angry-sounding farmer from the edge of the trees had appeared just as they'd finished pulling their socks and shoes back on, and he'd shaken a fist at them as they went running back down the hill. They'd abandoned their remaining food and Slash's tattered old blanket in favor of getting away. Now they ran carefully back through the trees with one eye on the forest floor and another on their destination. “Come on,” Slash called, “he's gonna catch us!” She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes wide, but the farmer had long since given up his pursuit. “Oh, shut up!” she huffed back at him between gasping breaths. Up ahead of her, he laughed loudly at her having taken the bait. A few minutes later, the two of them were bent over, panting and wheezing for breath like they'd just run a marathon. Both were red-faced from the exertion. “You need to get out more,” he choked out, grinning. “You're just as out of breath as me,” she replied, slapping him playfully. Together, they hopped on the back of his chopper and tore off down the back road. Lacey wrapped her arms around Slash's waist and pulled herself close as he revved the engine, really letting it rip and roar, as they whipped off down the broken asphalt with a whooping yell from them both. The wind rushed past them, tearing at their clothes as they raced back down the roads, laughing the whole way. A little while later, they pulled up in the empty clubhouse parking lot and Slash parked the bike near the metal building. Slash checked the time as they hopped down off his hog. He muttered something, a half-formed thought. “What's up?” she asked. “Almost two o'clock, that's all.” “Have somewhere important to be?” she asked as she slid her hands around his waist, beneath his patched vest. “Actually,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her, “I do.” “Oh?” she asked after his lips brushed hers. “Who ya meeting? Another lover?” she asked, giggling a little at the implication. “Not quite,” he said with a laugh as he shook his head. “Well, can I come along for the ride? I love being on the back of your bike.” He bit his lip and shook his head again. “No,” he said, “not to this meeting.”

Lacey laughed again, thinking it was another bad joke but she realized as she looked into his eyes there wasn’t anything humorous about it. “Oh. You're serious, aren't you?” “Yeah,” he growled. “Sorry, but you can't come along.” “Well, who is it, then? That you can't bring me along?” He glanced away with a sigh. “Look, I don't think you really need to know.” There was something about the way he said it, the way he seemed almost ashamed of what he was doing. “No,” she said. She snatched her wrist out of reach as he went to grab her hand, to presumably pull her toward the clubhouse. “I think I absolutely need to fucking know what's going on. And I need to know right now.” “Let's just talk about this inside,” he said. “Why?” “Why?” he asked, frustrated. “Because I need Tiny and Rat to watch you while I'm gone.” Then, somehow, it all clicked in her head. What he wanted to do, where he was going, why she needed to be watched by the two remaining Battleborn. How she knew, she couldn’t say – only that there was only one obvious conclusion to be drawn. “You're going to meet him, aren't you?” she nearly hissed. “You're going to meet with that fucker Wayne!” He sighed. “Babe,” he said, “I really need you to listen to me on this. I have to meet someone, and I've gotta be there in about thirty minutes. Okay?” She crossed her arms and put her foot down, feeling a little like a petulant child as she stamped in the dusty parking lot. “You tell me what's going on right now, Dustin Riley. Or, so help me God, this is over.” He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, then closed it again. Like a poor fish out of water. Which, Lacey supposed, he was. From the way he'd described his life, he'd steered clear of romantic attachments. Slash had wanted a life that was beholden to no one, man or woman. “He offered me a deal, to testify against another gang in court, but I've got a plan to flip it back on him,” he said. “Even our lawyer thinks it'll work, if we can get some hard evidence.” “So, that's why the guys are coming home?” “That's right,” he said, nodding. “Because I agreed to meet with him.” “He's going to fuck you over,” she said. “You know that, right? Wayne gets his shits and giggles from jerking people around.” He nodded. “I know. But, this is the best plan we have, Lacey.”

“I don't like it.” “I don't like it either,” he reminded her. “But, ain't no one else coming up with a better, foolproof plan that I've heard.” She looked down at her shoes, scuffed them against the gravel lot. She took a deep breath and looked up at the pale blue sky, at the vault of heaven that stretched from horizon to horizon. “I want to go with you,” she said, finally. “No,” he said. His voice was flat, firm. “That right there, that would be playing right into his fucking hands. I need you here, safe, in case this is some kind of switcheroo-fuck-you that he's trying to pull. If something happens to me, I want to know you're safe where he can't touch you.” “Slash,” she said, a little frustrated that it was perfectly fine for him to put himself in harm's way, but it was somehow anathema for her to do the same, “you can't just expect me to stay here safe. I got you into this problem, I want to go with you.” “You didn't get me into this problem,” he said as he got up off his bike. He came over and pulled her into his arms. “I did.” She looked to the side, out to the nearly deserted road that led up to the Battleborn clubhouse. “It's my fault he got away with breaking your leg in the first place,” she whispered. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice gravelly and low, “but it's my fault I'm still in love with you. I have to keep you safe, babe.” “Dustin, I ... I don't know what to say.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers, smile down at her. “You don't have to say anything.” She felt the heat rising to her cheeks and looked away. She thought she'd felt this way, once, about Wayne. All that had been thrown out on its head, though, when he completely flipped on her. What she felt for Slash, this affection, this attraction. She knew it was real. He'd never hurt her, or betray her. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. “Which is why-” “Wait,” he said, his voice relieved and shocked at the same time. “You do?” She looked back up at him, at the little grin on his lips. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her answer. “Which is why I don't want to let you go.” “You need to, though,” he said. “Taking responsibility for this, that's what I'm here for. That's part of who I am. I have to go do this. And, if it works, he'll be off our backs forever.” She nodded, put a hand on his chest. “I know,” she replied after a while. “I just, I don't have to like it, though. Not one bit.”

“Well, ain't like I’m exactly jumping over the moon for this shit, neither,” he said, squeezing her in his arms. “But, we'll get through it, okay?” Frustrated, she let out a long sigh. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what choice do I have?” “Not much more than what I've got,” he conceded. “This is a shit show all around, you know. But, let's go talk to the guys, alright? We'll let Tiny and Rat know what's going on, get you situated, then I'll head out. I still got a meeting to catch.” Together, they went inside and found the two other free Battleborn members. They were playing pool in the rec room, sucking back a couple beers, and generally trying to keep their cool while their world fell apart around them. “Alright, guys,” Slash announced as he walked in. “Need you to keep an eye on Lacey while I head out to a meeting.” Both men looked over to him from their game, their pool cues gripped tightly in their hands. They exchanged concerned looks, but Tiny spoke first. “What's the meeting about?” he asked. “I'm meeting with Wayne Walker,” Slash grumbled. He held up a hand before either man could lodge a protest. “I don't like it any more than you do.” He moved them back into the meeting room, a room Lacey hadn't been allowed in until now. All of them dropped their cell phones outside, and they closed the door behind them. Secure, and completely safe from eavesdropping, Slash laid out the plan to the two men and left nothing out. “What's gonna happen if this don't work?” Slash's second-in-command asked after he'd finished speaking. “What if he don't slip up and you can't go to the cops or his bosses on this, or whatever?” He shrugged. “Go to the press, then? That doesn't work, guess I'll take the deal.” “You can't take the fucking deal!” Tiny, red-faced, roared suddenly as he slammed his fist on the table. “That ain't gonna happen!” Lacey flinched back, eyes wide at the outburst. She'd never known Tiny to react that way to anything in the short time she'd known him. He'd never struck her as the type to yell and pound things with his fists. “What do you want from me?” Slash shouted back. “You want me to let the Battleborn get torn down to its foundation? With all my brothers beaten and in jail? I can do something about this!” “Not this, though!” Tiny shouted back. “You can't fucking rat!” “I'll turn informant in a heartbeat if it means you're all safe!” Slash shouted. “Hell, if it meant saving this club, I'd burn the whole goddamn town down!” Tiny backed off a little bit, hands up. Even Lacey took a step back. “Alright, dude,” Tiny said. “It's your life, man. You do what you gotta do. You think you can keep the club together with this plan, you do it.

Okay?” Slash nodded. “Let's put it to a vote.” Rat snorted. Up until now, he'd been keeping his mouth conspicuously shut. “There's like, I dunno, three of us, boss. Ain't much of a quarry.” “Quorum,” Tiny, Lace, and Slash all said at once. Rat blinked in surprise and shook his head. “Quorum. Whatever.” Slash seemed to ignore his objection, though. “Vote. Yay or nay.” “Yay,” Tiny said, raising his hand. Slash nodded, raised his hand. “Yay.” Rat frowned and shook his head. “Nah, man. I just don't like it. This Wayne guy's just a cop, like the rest of 'em. Don't care if he's a lawyer, or some shit. He's still just a fucking cop to me, and I don't trust him.” “Those in favor carry it, anyways,” Slash said. “Guess I'm gonna go meet this asshole, and put the plan into motion. You two stay and protect her, alright?” “Yeah,” Tiny replied. “We got her.” Slash pushed back from the table. Lacey scrambled after him as he grabbed his vest and left the room. “Slash, wait a second.” “What's up, babe?” he asked as he scooped up his cell phone from the little basket just outside the room and stuffed it away in a pocket. “I just, I wanted to tell you to be careful. Okay? And don't trust him.” “I know. I will be, and I won't.” They embraced again, one last time before he left. He held her against him, his strong arms encircling her like a ring of protection and security. “I love you,” he said, just louder than a whisper. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. She stood up on tiptoes and kissed him. “I still wish you'd take me with you, though. I don't like this, Slash.” “We went over this,” he said, squeezing her one last time. “I can handle Wayne, okay? I'll be back soon, alright?” Then, he was letting her go and heading out the front door. She watched him as he left. She didn't like this, not one bit. Not only did she worry that he'd bitten off more than he could chew, she didn't like this feeling of helplessness. Not after she'd been given a glimpse of what having control of her own life could be like.

But, maybe that it was her fate to be in one prison or another. Imprisoned by her fear of Wayne, imprisoned by her worrying over Slash trying to protect her. Every which way she turned, she seemed to see bars in front of her. Some effort by someone to control her. She clutched her hands into fists at her side and shook her head: no, something had to change.

Chapter 33 Slash It was a rare occurrence when Slash didn't enjoy the shortest of bike rides. This was one of those times. He could smell a change in the air, one that he didn't necessarily like. His palms were sweating, his head spinning. He'd spent his entire adult life fighting, sometimes even killing. His world was drenched in blood and violence. He'd done backroom deals, shady back alley trades, dead drop style cash for drugs. Hell, he had even become comfortable with it, years ago. He understood he had blood on his hands, and he even knew where the bodies were buried. He'd put some of them there, after all. This was different, somehow. He had to outsmart a man like Wayne. A man who lived by his wits, by his ability to speak and talk circles around the other man. Even with as much reading as Slash had done over the years, he knew that he was pretty much walking into a gun fight, armed with just a knife. This was a damned fool's errand, a Hail Mary of epic proportion. But, it was the only chance he had. He arrived at the park a few minutes early. He stayed on his bike for a moment and looked around, taking in the lay of the land. With school still in session, it was almost deserted. Most of the soccer moms were lined up in front of the elementary school waiting for their ankle biters, or busy at the grocery store picking up provisions for the weekend. A lone figure stood out by the small pond, about a hundred and fifty yards away, feeding ducks. The only car here was Wayne's white BMW, parked down at the far end from Slash's bike. The tinting on the windows was dark, almost black. At a glance, he couldn't even see inside. Wayne could have been sitting in there with a whole squad of cops, or a gun leveled at his head, and he wouldn't know the difference. It was now or never. He took out his cell phone, brought up the app that he'd downloaded for recording their conversation. It was simple, just a little record button that would save the recording to a digital file and immediately upload it to a cloud service somewhere off his phone. He was about to put the phone away, but then decided against it. He needed to send a message to Rat, to see how things were going with Lacey. He hated leaving her out of this, but he couldn't risk putting her in harm's way. He knew she didn't like it, that she was agitated with him for agreeing to meet with Wayne. If anything happened to her on his watch, he'd never forgive himself. Slash sent off the message to Rat, glanced around the parking lot one more time, then headed for Wayne's vehicle. It was time to have this meeting.

Chapter 34 Lacey Nervous and agitated, Lacey paced back and forth in the rec room. This was insane. She couldn't believe she’d let Slash run off on his own like this. He didn't know what Wayne was capable of. Even though they were friends years ago, he thought Wayne was just some prick in a suit. Slash thought that, as president of the Battleborn, he was some top dog on the street. But, Wayne was crazy. There was no telling what he'd do. She chewed at her thumb, gnawing away at the tip as she tried to think of what she could do. She had an idea, but she didn't know if it would work or not. She remembered seeing some sleeping pills in Slash's medicine cabinet when she'd been rummaging for some face wash. Maybe, if she could get the guys to have a drink with her, she could slip one of them, or both, a mickey. She looked furtively back over her shoulder at Tiny and Rat, who had returned to their seemingly genteel game of pool. “Come on, man,” Rat said as he chalked the tip of his cue, “you can't make that shot.” “Boy,” Tiny said, grunting as he leaned down over the pool table and got a bead on the eight ball with the cue ball, “don't tell me what I can and can't do. This shit's child's play.” Rat barked out a laugh. “Believe it when I see it.” “Hey guys,” Lacey said. Tiny and Rat glanced her way, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, girl?” Tiny asked. “I'm gonna head back to Slash's bunk. Try to read or something, take my mind off things.” “Alright,” he said, nodding. “We'll keep an eye out for Slash. Either of us hear anything, we'll let you know, okay?” “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” She left them in the rec room and went back to Slash's bunk. She went into his bathroom and to his medicine cabinet. Only, they weren't there. “Shit,” she swore to herself, slamming the medicine cabinet shut. She leaned down and began to dig through the drawers just below the sink. They had to be here somewhere! Outside in the rec room, there was a loud yell. “Goddammit, Rat!” She stopped and cocked her head. It was Tiny, probably yelling about Rat snaking the winning shot out from underneath him, or some other crap. Even before the rest of the guys had been locked up, those two had been at each other's throats over little competitive games like cards and pool. As far as Lacey could tell, it just seemed to be part of their natures that they were both competitive.

She went back to digging around in the drawers. Nothing in the first one, just an empty bottle of aftershave an old, half-filled canister of shaving cream. She slid it shut and went onto the second. There was a loud thud, then a door slammed. Probably Tiny going off to his room to have a drink in some peace and quiet. She wasn't too worried about it. Just meant she'd only have to drug one of them. And, quite frankly, she didn't mind drugging Rat. He was kind of an asshole, if she was being honest. At the bottom of the second drawer, she found the half-filled bottle of sleeping pills with Slash's given name typed out on them. She gave them a shake and closed up the drawer. She didn't know why he had this prescription, but she knew they'd work pretty well for what she wanted. A few years back, she'd had the same thing prescribed to her by her doctor after Wayne had mentioned she seemed to have problems sleeping. At the time, she'd wanted to scream at him, “No asshole! I just don't want to sleep next to you!” She pocketed the bottle of pills and closed up the medicine cabinet, then headed back out towards the rec room. Rat was still in there, picking up pieces of a broken pool cue from the ground. “Woah,” Lacey asked as she came around to his side of the table. “What happened?” He shook his head. “Tiny got all pissy when I won,” he said in a frantic and frustrated voice, “and stormed off to his bunk. You know how he gets sometimes, acts like a real goddamn asshole of a sore loser. Big time, you know.” “Oh, I'm sorry. But, hey, would you like another beer?” she asked, gesturing to his nearly empty one sitting on the table. “I'm going to grab one, and I hate to drink alone.” “Sure,” he said, perking right up as he collected the last of the pool cue and took it over to the table. “That'd be great,” he added over his shoulder. She didn't like doing this. The guys here were rough, but who among the Battleborn wasn't? To join an outlaw gang like this, you had to, pretty much by definition, be a social outcast and misfit. It didn't necessarily make someone like Rat a bad person, or mean there was anything wrong with him. He was just an odd duck, as her father would say. Lacey went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge. She twisted off the tops and set them down on the counter, then went and rummaged for a spoon. She pulled the pills out, shook a few into her hand, and stuck the pill bottle back in her pocket. She set the little blue pills on the counter top and, with the back of the spooning bowl, began to crush the pills into a fine powder. She pulled out the bottle and checked the recommended dosage again. Just one pill. Lacey screwed up her face and bit the inside of her mouth. Okay, five pills. That should be more than enough to knock him out, and make it last. She finished crushing the rest of the pills till she'd hit her quota, then slowly and deliberately brushed the narcotic dust into the mouth of the beer bottle. The powder dissolved easily, and mixed well with the drink. Then she very carefully picked up the laced drink in her left hand, and made sure her intended beer was in her right. Satisfied she knew the difference, she headed back out into the rec room. First, she'd dose Rat. Then, when he was groggy enough for her to slip away, she'd go find Slash and help him figure this out. She just hoped Tiny wouldn't wake up while she was trying to make her getaway. She didn't know

if she had enough pills to dose a man his size. “You wanna play another game of pool or something?” she asked as she put the beer in her left hand down in front of him. She gave him a big, friendly grin. “Promise I won't break the stick when I lose.” He returned her grin so wide she could see those bad and missing molars of his near the back. “Sure thing, little lady. Love to.”

Chapter 35 Slash With his cell phone set to record and stashed away in his pocket, Slash headed to Wayne's white BMW. Gravel and rocks crunched beneath the heels of his biker boots with each step. This was the moment of truth. The moment everything depended on. He still hadn't received a text message back from Rat, but he could understand that. Rat and Tiny were probably throwing darts or playing a hand of cards, and he just hadn't heard. It wasn't a big deal, either. He and Tiny were brothers in the MC, after all, and Slash trusted both men with his life, and with Lacey's. Besides, he couldn't worry about that stuff now. He needed to stay focused, needed to keep his eyes on the prize. He realized, as he walked up to Wayne's little sports car, that something was wrong. Now that he could see better through the heavily tinted black windows, he began to see that no one was in it. He stopped next to the car's passenger side door, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. That wasn't right. Where could Wayne be? He frowned and looked around the park, a wave of uneasy confusion washing over him. He looked out to the pond, to the indistinct figure out there feeding the ducks. Could that be him? He frowned and shook his head. He could image Wayne doing a lot of different things, but feeding the ducks wasn't one of them. As he stood there, though, he heard something. A faint, distant sound, like the jingling and singing of wind chimes just beyond the edge of his hearing. He stood still, very still, and held his breath. It was coming, he realized, from inside the car. He leaned down to the passenger window and, cupping his hands around his face to block the glare, peered inside. There, resting in the middle of the driver seat, was a cheap burner phone that was lit up, ringing. He didn't see a red light on the dashboard, or anything, to mark the car as having the alarm turned on. He straightened up, shaking his head, and walked around to the driver side. He tried the door, but it was locked. He looked around the park again, to make sure it was still as deserted as it had been, then put his jacket-clad elbow through the window. The sound of shattering, tinkling glass filled the air as Slash brushed away the jagged edges of glass and reached inside to unlock the door. The phone, meanwhile, continued to ring without pause. He picked up the phone. On the front of it was a local number, keyed to the contact name “Oldest Friend in the World.” His stomach dropped. Wayne. At least, a name like that as the contact seemed to match his sick sense of humor. This felt like a setup, like a trap of some sort. He needed to get Wayne on the phone, one way or another. He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear. “You're late, Dustin!” Wayne chirped on the other end of the line, with that normal, amoral and upbeat attitude of his. “Figured you would have found this phone a little while ago. Oh well, time moves on without us, with no care for our feelings one way or another. Am I right? Or am I right?” “Thought I was acting in good faith when you dragged my ass out here, Wayne. What the fuck happened here? Thought you and I were doing this meet face-to-face.”

“Good faith?” Wayne asked into the phone. All the false sanity had been dropped from his tone of voice. Now, he just had that cruel streak running through it. “Just like all the good faith I put in you all those years ago, you miserable piece of shit? Faith when you tried to steal my girl?” If this was how he wanted to play it, then so be it. Slash shook his head and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and held it up so it could record their conversation. “Look,” Slash said, “I admit it. I fell in love with her, and I told her about it. Is that why you came after my MC? Why you came after the Battleborn?” “I came after you because you're all criminals, through and through. I wanted to see you all behind bars, because that's where scum like you belong.” “That why you beat Lacey, then?” Slash asked, trying to steer the conversation towards something more incriminating. “Why you abused her for so long?” “What?” Wayne said. “Who told you that? I love her. Everything I've ever done was for her. It was for our life together.” Slash sighed. No luck on that front. “So, do you still want to do this deal, then? Me testifying against the Lightning Kings in exchange for immunity for me and my club?” Wayne laughed. And laughed. And laughed. “Testify against the Lightning Kings? Who are they, some other biker rejects?” “You said-” “Let's get this clear, Dustin,” the assistant DA cut him off, the words practically slithering out of his mouth, “I'm going to bring you down, and I'm going to bring the rest of your crew down with you. I know you've been protecting Lacey, and that's fine. I'm glad you have, even. She means the world to me.” “I've been protecting her from you, you son of a bitch.” “That's just what she wants you to think, Dustin. Deep down, she knows I love her, and that her life is with me. Her future is with me. That's why she chose me all those years ago, and not you. And, that's why you've come back into our lives and stolen her away from me. You want your revenge, you want to ruin my life.” “What? No-” “You showed up on our wedding day, Dustin,” Wayne chided. “Everyone knows it, people saw you. A bride was seen riding away on the back of a chopper being ridden by a man matching your description. Same vest, same paint job, same everything. You stole her from me, but I'll get her back. I promise you.” Somehow, in Wayne's twisted mind, he'd flipped the script around. He'd convinced himself he was the hero. Either that or he knew he was being recorded, and that Slash was trying to trip him up and admit guilt, some other piece of incriminating evidence. But, how could he know?

“Just remember, Dustin, you're not always around. One of these days, she'll pick up her phone when I call. Hell, she's probably there alone right now. I think I'll just call her, or maybe swing by. I'm just around the corner, anyways.” Slash shook his head, pounded his fist on the roof of the white BMW. He was nearby. This had all been a setup to get him away from the clubhouse. “No, you son of a bitch,” he yelled into the phone. “You keep away from her?” “Away from the woman who'd already agreed to marry me?” Wayne asked like Slash was daft. “I just want to talk to her, Dustin. There's no harm in that, is there?” Slash could hear that cruel smile of his coming through in his words. He clearly planned on more than a little chat. But, thank God, Rat and Tiny were still there. They'd keep her safe, or die trying. “Probably won't stick around to say hello. But, maybe, just maybe, Lacey will want to come back home with me. If I can convince her, you know. But, I'm going to really take her on a trip down memory lane, first, maybe change her mind. Fingers crossed on that. Once she sets herself to something, she's more stubborn than a mule.” He paused and laughed. “But, hey, you love who you love, for whatever reason. Am I right, Dustin? Or am I right?” Fuming, seeing red, Slash hung up the phone. He sprinted back to his bike, clearing the parking lot in no time flat.

Chapter 36 Lacey They'd already gotten about half-way through their game and Rat still hadn't touched his beer. It was maddening, and she was having a hard time being inconspicuous by checking the progress on his drink. Finally, she decided she needed to come up with a different plan. Something else that was maybe more direct. Maybe she could make him a sandwich or something, and slip it into that? Or, some other bit of lunch? She gripped her pool cue tighter, twisted her hands on it, and shook her head to herself. That wasn't going to work, not at all. She took another drink of beer, hoping the alcohol would calm her nerves. “Your shot, little lady,” Rat said, walking around to her side. “What am I again?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “Stripes,” Rat said with a sigh. She'd already asked two times before. She walked around to the other side and, cue in hand, leaned down to line up her shot. She needed to hurry up and get him drugged somehow, but she was out of ideas. The drugged beer had been her moonshot, her plan so crazy it might just work. But now she decided, as she shot the cue ball into a nine up against the rail, her original plan wasn’t going to carry through. She also realized, as the nine bumped off the rail in a completely unintended direction, that she kind of sucked at pool still. “Your shot,” she said as the nine rolled to a final stop in the middle of the table. She walked back around the table to her old spot. She grabbed her beer, grumbled to herself, and slammed back the last of it in frustration. She kept her empty and went to head into the kitchen. “Grabbing another beer?” Rat asked. “Yeah,” she said. “You need one?” “Hardly touched mine,” he said, holding up his beer. He shrugged and offered it to her. “Not in much of a drinking mood. Why don't you just take mine? Hate to see it go to waste.” Her eyes flickered from his to the beer. She shook her head a little. “No, I'll just grab another one.” “Think I got cooties, or something? Didn't even take a sip of it.” She shook her head, laughed a little. “Well, it's kind of warm, isn't it?” “Not really,” he said, running the tip of a finger through the condensation gathered on the side. “Still near as cold as when you pulled it out.” “Well, I wouldn't want to take your beer,” she said quickly. “That's all.” “Does seem a touch rude,” Rat replied with a laugh as he nodded his head. “Know what's really rude,

though?” he asked as he took a step forward. “Lacing somebody's drink. Lacey laced my beer. Didn't she?” “What?” she asked, furrowing her brow and trying to pretend to be shocked by the accusation. “Little lady,” he said, taking another step forward, “you think I don't know when my beer smells funny? I been drinking that piss for years. Years, I tell you. Now, here. Have my beer.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and she shook her head. She put her hands out in front of her, defensively, and took a step back from the advancing biker. Rat advanced. “Know who else wants you to take a drink? Mr. Walker does, that's who.” Wayne? What did he have to do with this? “No. No, no, no,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth like a waterfall as she backed away. “Don't worry, you made it easy on yourself. Instruction from him was to beat you black and blue if I had to. Said he didn't care one bit. Enjoy myself even. I ain't no woman beater, though.” She backed into a chair, almost stumbled to the ground, but managed to stay upright and kick it away. She lost her grip on the empty beer bottle, and it tumbled to the floor and shattered. “Rat!” she shouted. “What are you doing? You can't be working for him! You're a Battleborn!” “Known his daddy for a while, but Wayne's got me working for him, now, little girl.” With beer in hand, he advanced on her double-time, corralling her back into a corner. She stopped as her back and heels hit the wall with a soft thud. In the understatement of year, this was not going the way she'd planned in the beginning. “Rat, please, you can't do this. What about Slash?” “What about him?” Rat asked with a shrug. He advanced, coming closer and closer with each step. “Now drink.” Tiny could help her. That was it. “Tiny!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Help!” “Tiny!” he screamed right along with her, his voice pitched to a false falsetto as he waved his hands around in a mockery. “Help!” The biker just laughed, laughed so loud and freely she could see his mouthful of rotted teeth. “Oh, little girl, he ain't gonna here you. What do you think that broken pool cue was all about? I knocked that fat bastard out when you went to Slash's room, then locked him in his bunk.” Lacey's hope began to fly away, just like a bird released from a cage. Her eyes began to fill with tears, clouding her vision. “What kind of man are you?” she sobbed. “You're a fucking monster!” “Gotta make a living somehow,” he said. “Now, drink.” He edged closer. She could see every little piece of stubble on his chin, every individual hair. If she'd kept the pool cue, she would have had something to defend herself with. If she'd managed to hold onto the empty beer bottle, she could have protected herself. Now she had nothing. Just her tears, and her

obstinacy. “No,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “I won't.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Didn't wanna do this,” he said, mild regret in his voice. His hand shot out, fast as lightning, and slapped her hard across the mouth. Pain flashed in the jaw, the kind of pain she'd almost grown used to under Wayne. More tears filled her eyes, but this time she knew they were tears of anger. She cried out as she stumbled to the side with the force of the blow, but she picked herself upright. Rat closed in on her, shoving her backwards as he swept her legs out from under her. She went down in a thudding tangle of limbs, tears streaming down her face. She looked up, saw the blurry form of the biker standing over her, the beer still in hand. She drew herself away from him, curled up into a fetal position to try and protect herself from the rain of kicks and punches she'd grown to expect. Instead, he reached down and pulled her over onto her back. He came down on top of her, straddled her chest with his superior weight. She struggled against him, kicking and screaming now, as he snatched up a flailing wrist with one hand. She tried to fight him, but his grip was like rebar around her arms. With one knee, he pinned her wrist to the rec floor. Calmly, he switched the beer from one hand to the other and grabbed her clawing hand. “Stop it, little girl,” he yelled through gritted teeth. “Only gonna hurt yourself more, you keep fighting this.” She reached up for his face, her fingers searching for his eyes. Rat grabbed her hand, yanked it back down to the floor, and slammed his other elbow into it. She screamed out in a surprised yelp of pain, and he took the opportunity to pour the laced beer into her mouth. She sputtered and shook her head, spraying the beer everywhere in a fine mist. He grunted and slapped her again, harder this time. “Open your mouth,” he yelled. “Open it!” Spilled beer covered her face, soaked her hair, and had gone down to the front of her shirt. It filled her nose, gagging her. “Open it!” he yelled again. She clamped her lips together and shook her head from side to side. He reached down and pinched her nose, shutting her nostrils. She screamed in closed-mouthed protest, her wordless yell like a trapped animal. She thrashed violently, trying to buck him off, but it was no use. He was too big, too heavy for her. His fingers and thumbs were like a vice, gripping her nose closed, shutting off her air. “Come on, little girl,” he drawled. “Just one drink.” Finally, she gasped out, desperate for breath. He took his opportunity when he saw it. He shoved the beer bottle to her lips and began to pour. Lacey struggled and gagged as the cold, acrid-tasting liquid flowed into her mouth and filled it. She choked on it at first, but even choking on it wasn't a defense. She could

feel it flowing down her throat, slowly making its way to her belly. With most of the beer gone, Rat took the bottle away from her mouth. He stayed on top of her, though, and kept her hands pinned by her side. She shook her head some more, tried to gag herself. Without any free fingers to stuff down her throat, she knew that was almost impossible. The worst part, though, was that the struggling with no air had already helped her earlier beer along. She could feel herself becoming lightheaded, detached from this world and its worries. A sense of warmth and blessed confusion was filling her body. “There you go,” Rat said, his voice almost congratulatory. Before she could think to close her mouth again, he was pouring the last of it down her throat. She hated herself suddenly for not having tried harder. She should have just run out the front, and not tried to do this foolish ruse. If she had, maybe she would have been miles from her. After all, it had worked with her wedding, hadn't it? Time as a concept seemed to fade, and the world simultaneously slowed to a crawl and seemed to rush past her. Rat stayed on top of her, though, his eyes fixated on Lacey's as hers began to droop and shut. There was no shame or anger, or even a will to fight. No Wayne Walker, no Dustin Riley or his alter ego Slash, and no Battleborn. A moment later, just before her world went dark, she heard a familiar voice. “She out?” the voice asked. “Yes sir, Mr. Walker,” Rat replied. “Good.” Then, the sound of a gunshot, followed by three more in rapid succession. “Slash never should have trusted a rat.” After that, there was just blessed darkness, and deep, unbroken sleep.

Chapter 37 Slash Slash slammed into the front door of the clubhouse at a dead sprint. He hoped against hope that he wasn't too late. He still couldn't believe he'd been tricked so easily by Wayne, been conned into letting his guard down like this. He shoved through the doors, and the old, familiar smell of gunpowder filled his nose. He ran through to the rec room, calling for Lacey, Tiny, Rat, anyone. Only silence answered him. He rounded the corner into the rec room, his feet pounding the floor, and came to dead stop. He looked around, eyeing everything, until his gaze fell on a crumpled form sitting up against the wall. Rat. Slash called out to him as he ran over, but it was clear even from this distance that he was dead. His shirt was covered in blood from a group of tightly spaced gunshots in his chest, and a long languid trickle began at the corner of his mouth and ran down his neck. Sticky thick blood covered his hands, had pooled around him on the tile. Just beyond him lay an empty beer bottle, tumbled over on its side. “Rat?” Slash asked again as he knelt down next to the corpse. No response from the cracked lips. No blink from the cool, glassy gaze of the eyes. Slash stood up, leaving his brother there, and went over to the bottle. He picked it up, smelled it, wrinkled his nose in disgust. There was something off about the beer, a kind of smell that was too skunky to be just beer. He took the bottle and went over to one of the tables in the rec room, set the empty down, and looked at the shattered beer bottle there. Almost no liquid was mixed on the tile with the shattered amber glass. So, it had been an empty, too. Next, his eyes glanced up to the pool table. Two cues leaned precariously up against the side. That was a particular pet peeve of Tiny's. He hated it when you leaned the sticks like that, complained about how it warped them over time. It looked like Wayne and whoever was with him, had come in during the game. They'd struggled, maybe? Rat hadn't given up, so Wayne had him executed? That would explain the broken bottles, and the flipped over chair next to the table. Slash shook his head. Something about this whole setup seemed off to him. He walked over to the pool table, tapped the nine ball and sent it into a nearby pocket. Whoever had been playing had just barely missed. But, then a thought occurred to him. Where the Hell was Tiny? Surely, Wayne wouldn't have taken him along with Lacey. Would he? That was when he heard it. A muffled pounding, back in the bunkhouse. He picked up one of the pool cues from where it leaned against the table and, grasping it in both hands like a makeshift club, headed off to the find the source of the noise. The noise grew louder as he stalked down the hallway, deeper and deeper into the bunks. A thudding, thumping sound like a shoulder or a boot on the wall. It could be Tiny, locked away by Wayne for whatever reason. Or, hell, it could be one of Wayne's men. If he had men, of course. He gripped his cue tighter, his knuckles white, as he crept down the hallway. As he got closer to the source, he realized it was coming from Tiny's bunk. He padded down the silent hallway till he reached just short of Tiny's door. “Tiny?” he called, his voice booming in the tomb-like

silence. There was more thumping and bumping, clearly on the other side of the door. Slash reached out with one hand, the pool cue still gripping the other, and twisted the nob. He flung the door back and stepped away, ready in a heartbeat to start swinging at whoever came out. Nothing burst out at him, though. Instead, there was a muffled cry for help from just inside his second-incommand's room. “Slash?” At least, that's what he thought he heard. He poked his head in through the door, taking it in slices, and looked around. There, tied up in a chair with a gag in his mouth, was Tiny, his eyes open and pleading for Slash to untie him. “Goddammit, Tiny,” Slash muttered as he tossed the cue aside and drew his pocket knife. He went over and tore the gag off began cutting the bonds from his wrists. “Slash, man,” Tiny said, “I'm so fucking sorry. That bastard Rat attacked me and must've put me in here.” “Rat?” Slash asked. “Rat did this to you?” “You'd just left, and Lacey had gone back to your room for something, then all a sudden Rat just starts wailing on me with his cue stick,” he said as rubbed his tender, previously constrained wrists. “Messed up my leg and beat me unconscious. Woke up in here, all tied up. Heard some gunshots, then a bunch of guys talking.” “They got Lacey,” Slash said, cutting right to the point, as Tiny leaned down and started to untie the bonds around his ankles. “And Rat's dead, shot to death.” Tiny glanced up at him, winced, and shook his head. Slash returned the look. Rat had been there brother, even if he had ended up being a real rat in the end. “So it was all bullshit, then? The meeting, all that?” “Wasn't even there,” Slash said, groaning. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Not only did they have the woman he loved, they'd killed one of his brothers. And he still didn't have any evidence to ruin Wayne. “Well,” Tiny said with a sigh, “not only all that. But, Wayne's got help.” “Help? Who? The cops?” He shook his head. “Lightning Kings.” Slash shook his head and ran a hand down his face. The LK. Shit. “How the fuck did he get them?” “Dunno,” Tiny said. “Are you sure?” “Heard 'em through the walls, man. Recognized one of their voices. Who else is gonna have that many

bikes with 'em?” “Any idea where they took her?” Tiny frowned and shook his head again. Slash turned and kicked the wall, putting a hole in. He cursed and wiggled the tip of his steel tip boot free. “Well, he did mention something. Dunno who he was talking to, but it sounded him important to him.” “What was it, brother? Anything can help.” “Something about Memory Lane.” “Like, taking a trip down it?” “Yeah, maybe.” Tiny shrugged. “I dunno.” The gears pulled together in Slash's head. Wayne had mentioned the same thing, or something similar, over the phone to him, towards the end of the conversation. Then, it clicked. What had been their most important experience growing up? Where had they all first met? “The old high school,” Slash said. “It's the only thing that makes sense.” “Really?” Tiny asked, making a face. “He'd go back there, you think?” Slash shrugged. “Got any better ideas?” Tiny grunted. “No. I just know the guy's an asshole.” “You said he's got the Lightning Kings with him, huh?” “Yeah,” Tiny replied “We can't get past all those guys. Can we?” he asked as he went to stand. Slash lunged forward and caught him, his reflexes fast as ever, as Tiny's leg gave out on him. “We?” he asked. “Ain't no way with that fucked up leg of yours.” “You gotta let me help, man,” Tiny said as Slash eased him back down into the chair. “This is as much my fault as anyone's.” “’Cause you let your brother-in-arms blindside you?” “Fuckin' A, Slash,” Tiny hollered. “Lemme help you, man.” “Fine, fine, just stop your yelling,” Slash said as he offered him an arm and helped ease him up out of the chair. “We'll think of something. Meantime, we better check to make sure the stash is intact. No telling what Rat spilled to Wayne.” Tiny put his weight on Slash and slowly rose from the chair. Together, they crept down the hallway, back

to the linen closet where they kept all the sheets and towels stored away. “Should be fine,” Tiny said. “I didn't hear any noise down this way.” “You know, old man,” Slash said as he opened the closet and reached inside, “them not coming over here is probably why you're still alive, old man.” On the right, just behind the door frame, was a small catch. He searched with his fingers, probing the area, until he found it. He pulled the latch till he felt a click, then shoved back a false wall they'd installed years ago. A small portal lead through the back. He glanced back at his second-in-command, just to check on him, then pushed through the stacks of towels and sheets, and into the small secret compartment. The Battleborn had built this room a couple years after Slash had joined up with the MC. He'd noticed while taking some measurements, and looking at the floor plans, that there was this small vacant space in the wall. Even if you were paying really close attention to the dimensions of the outside versus the inside, and really looking for a secret cubbyhole like this, you'd still have a real pain in the ass trying to find it. Together, they turned it into their stash, the place where they kept their guns, ammo, and other contraband. It was a good hiding spot, Slash thought. After all, what cop was going to look in the linen closet for a machine gun? He reached up and grabbed the pull cord for the single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. It flared into brilliance, washing the small room with stark white light. Shotguns, submachine guns, handguns, rifles, pistols. They had it all, here, with crates and crates of ammo. All untagged, untaxed, and completely illegal. And, most importantly, it was more than enough to take down a small banana republic.

Chapter 38 Lacey Lacey didn't know how long she'd been out. Her sleep had been like a blanket of darkness, with no dreams or ideas of how she'd gotten there. All she knew about now was that her head was pounding, and the world seemed to move in slow motion behind her eyes. A slow spinning overtook her world, like she was laying back in the center of a merry-go-round and staring up at the sky. She didn't open her eyes, just squeezed them tighter and prayed the spins would go away. With her eyes still shut, she reached out with her other senses to try and get her bearings. The smell of mildew and damp filled her nose, and she could hear dripping water off in the distance. At least that was a start. She couldn't tell where she was, but something about the place, about the resonance of the area, just made her feel as if she were in an old building. Perhaps in a basement, or a cavern of some sort, like one of those old speakeasy tunnels from the 20s. She remembered going down into one on a tour, back when she was a teenager. All the bricks, and the lights, and that cloying feel of the damp on her skin. “You think she's coming to?” a man growled somewhere out there in the darkness, just beyond the edge of her senses. She didn't recognize the voice, but it reminded her of Slash or Tiny. It gave her the impression of cruelty, though. Like the man who spoke was the type of kid who plucked the wings off houseflies. “Nah, not yet,” another man replied. “Tired of this bullshit, yet?” the first man asked. “Long time ago, man. But, hey, this lawyer says he's gonna give us the run of the town. So, I'm fine sticking it out.” Silence, for a moment. “Think he'll give us a run of the girl, too?” the first man asked after a while. “Dunno if Walker will, or not,” the other admitted. “I like 'em to be awake, personally. They got more fire in 'em, that way.” One of them laughed as she drifted back into unconsciousness. This time, the dreams did come. Dreams of Slash, with his strong hands running over her naked body. Of the two of them riding on the back of chopper, ripping and roaring over the scenery. They rode together through the day, through the night. The stars and planets spun over their heads in a surreal symphony of celestial movement, like it was a choreographed dance composed for just them. Then, as the sun rose again, Lacey looked around and took in the sights. Except, now, the landscape had been transformed into a twisted hellscape. The world, all ashen gray and bright fiery yellow, seemed to burn. She asked Slash where they were, where they were going, but he didn't reply. He just kept riding. She pounded on his back, a feeling of dread filling the core of her being. She hit him again, over and over. Finally, he looked back but it wasn't Slash, like she'd originally thought.

Instead, it was Wayne's laughing visage. She screamed to herself, tried to realize it was just a dream. To not worry, to just wake up and be done with it. Some deeper voice within herself warned her against waking, stopped her struggles to come up from her slumber. Here, Lacey was safe. The world could pass her by, and she could wait for everything to be better. Because, here in the land of dreams, there was nothing to truly fear. Everything was nothing more than a figment of her drugged out imagination. Another voice whispered, in the world of the waking, that the nightmares were real.

Chapter 39 Slash “You're dead serious about this, ain't you?” Tiny asked as Slash piled up on the rec room table the last of the guns and ammo he'd selected. This was his fourth and final trip from the stash and he'd brought out every possible gun he thought he might use, along with a couple heavy duffel bags to haul all them in. “Should I not be?” Slash asked as he set a pump action twelve-gauge shotgun with a pistol grip on it. “Just looks like you're fucking Rambo, or some shit.” “At this point,” Slash said as he picked up one of the rifles and took it over to another, less cluttered table and began to break it down, “really wish I was.” “You scared?” Tiny asked as he set a hunting rifle, complete with scope and suppressor, down on the table next to him. “Fuck yes,” Slash said, glancing up. “But I get scared every time I go do something this stupid. Doubly, now, since Lacey's life is on the line, too.” “Scared is a good thing,” Tiny said. “Means you're ready to see tomorrow.” They'd had this little pre-war pep talk more times than Slash could count. Tiny was ex-military, Marines. You wouldn't have known it to look at him, but he was one of the best shots Slash had ever seen. “Gonna cover me, then?” “Looks like it,” Tiny said. Slash nodded. “We'll wait till after dark, which gives another hour or so.” “Dunno how many men they got, do we?” his second-in-command asked as he began to break down, clean, and oil the rifle with the kind of grace only hours and hours of regular practice can give you. Slash shook his head. “Doesn't really matter, does it? You'd be going in either way, wouldn't you?” He nodded. “I can't let anything happen to her. And, besides, Wayne needs this payback. Gonna be honest. I don't care if the Battleborn fall apart after this or not. I just want him dead.” “Fair enough,” Tiny said, nodding solemnly. “Soon as sunset rolls 'round, we'll head out.” “What're we gonna take? You can't ride out with your leg busted. 'Sides, we're bringing a whole goddamn arsenal with us.”

“Need something stealthy,” Tiny said, deep in thought as he cleaned out the barrel of the rifle with the long swab. “I was thinking we take my Prius.” “Quiet, and efficient,” Slash nodded at the joke Tiny had made in spite of the seriousness of what they were walking into. He stopped, though, and looked at Tiny. “Oh, shit, brother. You're serious, aren't you?” “Yeah,” Tiny said, locking the barrel back into the receiver. “You think of something that's quieter?”

Chapter 40 Lacey Lacey came to again in the darkness of her cell. She was more aware this time around, enough so that she realized it wasn't a jail cell, as such. More like a utility closet, in somewhere like a boiler room. She was laid out on a hard cotton cot with a scratchy pillow beneath her head, the kind you'd get at a cheap motel that had complimentary cans of roach spray in each room. She groaned loudly, put a hand to her head to try and stop the painful throbbing. “Ho, ho,” said one of the voices from earlier, “looks like girly-girl’s awake here.” “Oh, man,” added the other, “would you look at that? She is a fine piece, that's for damn sure. Even prettier awake.” She opened her eyes, groaning again as the weak light from a burning kerosene lamp shot up a flare of pain in her head. She could make out two barely visible forms standing against the wall, now. Both wore biker vests, like Slash's and Tiny's, but they were all the wrong colors. “Don't spook her now,” said one of the men, the one still up against the wall. “I ain't gonna spook her,” replied the one approaching her. “Gonna just take it real nice and slow, so she can get used to us. Like a scared kitten.” As the man came closer the door handle jiggled. Quick as could be, he came to a complete halt and shot upright. In two long strides, he was back at his old spot next to his friend. His buddy chuckled a little as the door creaked open. “Lacey?” a familiar voice asked as the form stepped into the room. “You feeling okay, sweetie? You waking up alright?” Wayne. Wayne Walker. Just as dapper looking as ever, clad in his perfectly tailored suit. She recoiled, her body instinctively curling up into a protective ball. “Go away,” she slurred. “Just, leave me alone.” “Well,” Wayne said soothingly. “I'll just come back in a little while, okay sweetie? Once you're feeling better, and not so loopy?” “Fuck off, Wayne,” she groaned. He turned to the two other men. “Keep an eye on her,” he snapped, before leaving the room again. The men followed him with their gazes till the door shut quietly behind him, then she felt as they swiveled back to her. A grin began to grow on the face of the man who'd come closest to her, but the other man

quickly slapped him. “Nah, dude,” he said. “Not this time.”

Chapter 41 Slash A moonless night fell over the small town. Slash and Tiny had scoped out the condemned high school before the sun went down, using binoculars to count men and map out routes. These were bikers, basically just goons, not military or even security guards. They were as undisciplined as any of the Battleborn would have been in the same situation, and neither men expected them to be too much of a worry if they were taken on individually. “You figure a trained soldier on guard duty like this,” Tiny had said while he was seated in the driver’s seat with Slash checking out the building, “can keep his attention for just a few hours at a time in a warzone situation. These guys can probably keep theirs fixed for what, maybe thirty minutes?” “I see one sneaking a drink from a flask already, Tiny.” “Clearly, they ain't seeing you as a threat. If they’re even expecting you at all,” “Would you? Hell, we knew Wayne was a threat, and look what happened to us.” “Good point, brother,” Tiny had said. Then, they'd waited till the sun went down. As it dropped below the horizon, they climbed out of Tiny's Prius and started to unload everything. A suppressed rifle for Tiny, his precious 30.06 that was dropped inside an AR-15 style body. For Slash, a pistol with a suppressor, extra clips of ammunition, and one homemade canister of tear gas he'd bought off some anarchist kid about a year back. He'd purchased two at the time, and used one as a gag during a hazing ritual. It had, surprisingly, worked pretty well. Almost too well, actually, and had ended up scaring off one of the prospects. He hadn't been able to find a use for the second one grenade until now. Then there were his knives. They hadn't nicknamed him Slash for nothing. As he crouched in a tangle of shrubbery near one of the side doors, with two Lightning Kings hanging out and nominally guarding it, he realized that this was the moment their assumptions about these guy's capabilities were going to be put to the test. Tiny was off in the distance, crouched up on a hill with a clear line of the sight on the building. He'd been a pretty stellar shot in his USMC days, and he'd kept up the practice over the years. But, if he was off by just a little bit, this could go very wrong for Slash, very quickly. As Slash crept through the brush, his blackened knife gripped in one hand, he prayed Tiny was as good of a shot under pressure as he was on the range. His eyes fixated on the two men, who were laughing and jostling back and forth, he crept closer. Tiny would be able to see him from this vantage point, and they'd agreed that it was up to him to start this little shindig.

Tiny fired. His rifle wasn't any louder than a cap gun, and all Slash heard was the sound of mosquito whizzing by. The man farthest from Slash reached up, almost idly, and put a hand to his neck. Even in the dim light, Slash could see the look of horror on his face as he pulled his bloody hand away and looked at it. His eyes were wide in terror, and he clutched his hand back to his throat as his partner stared in shock. The man Tiny had shot stumbled a little, landing against his buddy. His friend tried to steady him. “Dude? Dude! What the fuck, man? What happened?” Slash came up out of the bushes in a flash, his dark knife not even glinting in the low light. It was like cool black ice on a winter night as he came up behind the uninjured man and put a hand over his mouth, pulling him back into the bushes. The man screamed into his hand, but his wordless cry was muffled as Slash pulled him out of sight. He didn't bother speaking to him. Didn't bother threatening, or asking for information. He brought his knife up, cut deep into the man's throat, and slid it across in a horizontal arc. He opened up his jugular artery, unleashing a warm flood of blood, as he kept his hand clutched across his mouth. The man kicked, once, twice, and struggled for a long, tense moment before falling silent and ending his struggle. Slash had killed before. Sometimes, in this line of work there was a certain amount of murder that had to happen to get a point across, or to protect what was yours. This, though, felt personal to the Battleborn president. This man had been at least partly responsible for taking Lacey, whether he knew it or not. He dropped the fresh corpse to the ground, hiding him in the bushes. He slipped out, checked the man Tiny had shot, then pulled him back to join his comrade. With both of them hidden away, he gave a thumbs up to the unseen Tiny, and slipped through the side doors. On his way through, he glanced down at the concrete. A few drops of blood had splattered there, but nothing overtly noticeable. If anyone else came through, they'd just think the two guys had fucked off for a beer or something. Now in the hallway, he dropped to a crouch and listened. From here on, he was going to be alone with no cover from Tiny. Nevertheless, Tiny had his own part of the plan to carry out. He was to start dropping any singular out of the way Lightning Kings he happened to see. Maybe he could thin out the herd a little bit before word got out that Slash was in the building.

Chapter 42 Lacey “Sweetie?” Wayne asked, his voice high-fructose levels of sweet. If Lacey could have eaten his words, she would have gotten a cavity. “You feeling any better?” He was sitting on the cot, now, with his arms protectively over her. Behind him, the two men still flanked the doorway, their expressions a mix of dourness and boredom. She nodded. “Yeah.” “You almost ready to come home?” he asked, reaching out to brush the hair from her face. She flinched back again. “Wayne,” she said, “I don't know why you think I'd want to go home with you.” “Well,” he said, “because we love each other. We need each other. Isn't that right?” She shook her head. “No,” she said. “You don't get it, I left you. For Dustin.” He smiled and shook his head, laughing. “Oh, sweetie, he just had you fooled, like he has everyone fooled. He just wanted you to get to me, that's all. I started going after that biker gang of his long before our wedding, before you left me.” “Maybe that's true-” “No, it is true. Why do you think he was even coming to our wedding? To see you?” That much was true, at least. Damn him. She hadn't sent the invitation, and Slash was only coming because Wayne had had two of his guys arrested in twenty-four hours. She frowned a little, shook her head again. “Well, it doesn't matter why, he's been protecting me.” “Protecting you?” he asked, reaching out again to stroke her hair. In her confused state, she didn't see the hand coming. She felt his soft fingers stroke her hair, just like he used to when they'd first gotten together. Between the drugs and the confusion, she almost began to forget what this man had put her through. “Don't you mean keeping you locked up?” She slowly blinked her eyes. “That's not ...” But he had been, hadn't he? Every time she'd wanted to leave, Slash had fought tooth and nail to keep her in. Hadn't that been what made her the angriest with him? That she was being kept like a pet bird in a cage, just another cell? But, no, she needed to look at the source of the ideas going into her head. This was Wayne she was dealing with.

“He's a criminal, sweetie. A very, very bad man. And he's been keeping you because I was trying to do the right thing and protect you, and the town. Remember? I'm the good guy?” Okay, that part she knew was bullshit. He could lie to himself all he wanted, but that kind of shit wasn't going to fly with her. She brushed away his hand. He looked hurt as he retracted his hand. “If you're such a good guy,” she spat, “why the hell are you keeping me here with two guys who are talking about raping me?” His eyes went cold. Back to the same look he'd give her just before the beatings began. The old Wayne was back. With a vengeance. “What?” he asked, his voice almost a hiss. Before she could respond, though, he was up off the cot in a blur. His hand went inside his coat and came back out holding a chrome automatic pistol. With a shout, he shot both men between the eyes, one after the other. Lacey screamed, as her ears rang from the back-to-back blasts in the enclosed space. “See?” he shouted as he wiggled a finger in his ear. “I'm the good guy! They won't ever touch you, sweetie! You're all mine!”

Chapter 43 Slash Slash had been a lot of weird creepy places. Crack houses, cartel grow ops, meth labs, brothels, even back alley surgeries for the occasional stray bullet. But this place took the cake. Maybe it was because he'd spent forty hours a week here for nearly four years, but there was something about the big, sprawling building with its graffiti on the lockers, fallen ceiling panels, and broken beer bottles everywhere that gave him the heebie-jeebies as he pressed himself against the wall and made his way down the hallway. He stopped, his feet crunching on a piece of old dry wall, and listened. He heard voices ahead and, as he peered through the darkness, he could make it out the flickering light of something like a kerosene lamp coming out of one of the old classrooms. He held his breath, tried to listen more closely. “Walker ain't shit, man,” a gruff voice said. “Fucker thinks he's got us lock and stock on this, boys, but once he gets the rest of the money, we're gonna take care of him.” “Think we can really pin it on hem BB fuckers?” asked another man. “Hell, yeah, man. Slash is the only one still out. We take the money, take the drugs, then we kill Walker and blame it on Slash. Then, we move in and pick up the pieces, taking all their territory and business.” So, that was their plan. They were working for Wayne on this, but then they were going to double-cross him. If he just used the shadows to sneak by, the problem could take care of itself. Nothing screamed bad DA like being killed by a bunch of bikers over a bad deal. Of course, that would still leave the Lightning Kings out, running around, trying to pin everything on the Battleborn, and Slash in particular. The men inside the room laughed, and Slash counted three, maybe four guys inside. He gritted his teeth. Even with a surprise attack, that would be dicey to handle on his own. Plus, if they got a shot off, he'd alert anyone else still in the building. One of the guys inside the room piped up. “I say we take the girl back to the clubhouse when we're done with the DA.” “Yeah, chief, let's get the girl,” one of them added, excited. “We could keep her as a real clubgirl, like a pet or something. After a few nights, and some China White in her veins, we'll have her begging for all of us.” All the bikers in the classroom laughed cruelly, their voices filtering out into the hallway. “We get a collar and everything for her!” The men laughed again, encouraging him. Slash didn't hear the rest of their words. A spike of rage-fueled adrenaline entered his veins. His vision narrowed, his eyes clouded over. There was no way in hell these scumbags were going to touch Lacey. Not a fucking chance. Their words were a burble in the background, barely audible over the sound of rushing blood in his ears. He reached down and grabbed the canister of DIY tear gas off his belt and began to inch closer, along the wall. He got to the edge of the door, makeshift grenade in one hand, silenced pistol in the other. He pulled the pin on the canister and banked the tear gas against the open door of the classroom, arcing it inside. Just

like pool. “What the fuck?” one of the guys asked as the hissing can bounced one, twice, three times, before rolling to a stop in the room. Then, the coughing began. “Motherfucker! What is this shit?” Slash raised his pistol to chest height, gripped it in both hands, and took a deep, grim breath. The men came running out of the room moments later, uncontrollable tears streaming down their red, blistered faces. “Jesus fucking Christ!” one of them nearly yelled as he ran out into the hallway, his hands frantically rubbing at his face. He turned left, passed right in front of Slash. He was the first to go down, heavy as a sack of potatoes. A quick singular bullet to the head from the Battleborn president's silenced pistol. He was a human one moment, a corpse the next. The other men streamed out behind him, all with cries of confusion and shock coming from their lips. Slash dropped them all, one after the other, still not saying a word as he seethed with anger. “What the fuck?” the last man cried as he dropped to his knees. “What the fuck's going on?” Clearly, he could hear the shooting, but he couldn't respond in any meaningful way. He put his hands in the air, and sobbed. “Please, don't. I'm barely even with these guys.” Slash walked around him, still not saying anything, a cruel grimace on his face. He could see from the patch on his back that he was lying. He was a full member of the Lightning Kings. Granted, he didn’t recognize his voice as one of the guys who had joined in on the conversation regarding Lacey's fate. He put his pistol against the back of the man's head. He started to sob. “Please, man, I got a little girl at home. Lemme live, okay? Lemme live.” Slash sighed. Maybe the guy was lying, maybe he wasn't a father. He was still someone's son. Now, as Slash paused, the blood-rage subsided a little. He took the barrel of the pistol from the man's head. “Oh, man, oh thank you. Fuck, thank you so much!” he cried out, shaking his head from side to side, not believing his luck. Slash whacked him on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, whipping him into unconscious with the big hunk of tempered steel. As the man dropped to the floor, he heard something else. It sounded like gunfire, like two shots fired one after the other. He looked around. It had come from one of the nearby air vents. He ran over to the closest one and put his ear against it. Screams drifted up from below the school, from the basement where they kept all the maintenance stuff. He knew that scream. Lacey. Slash scrambled, trying to find the door he knew was around here, the one that would lead him to the stairwell that would take him into the bowels of the school. He reached down to his belt, pulled out a mini Maglite he'd been avoiding using, and flicked it on. He ran down a hall, found it, and threw it open. In the pitch black, with nothing but a round of pure, white light to guide him, he took the steps two at a time, running over detritus and kicking bottles of out of the way. “I'm coming, Lacey,” he breathed to the silent high school. “I'm coming, babe!”

Chapter 44 Lacey She slapped at Wayne's hands, trying to keep them off her. “Sweetie, honey, lovey,” he said, his voice saccharine sweet, as he tried to calm her down. “Calm down! I'm just trying to protect you! Trying to keep these goons off you!” “Get away from me!” she screamed in a shrill voice as she slapped at him harder, struck his face. He gave an exasperated sigh and stood up from the cot. “That's the way you want it, then?” he asked, his voice suddenly back to the old Wayne. “One last chance.” “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Fine, bitch,” he said through clenched teeth. “You asked for it. Time to show you some respect.” He descended on her again, his hands not brooking any argument. He reached for her clothes, began to tear at them. She clawed at his hands, at his face, trying to keep him away from her. He was too strong, though. He gripped her wrist, twisted it out of the way. He slapped her with his open hand, right across the mouth. She cried out in pain, too shocked to fight back for a moment. With her hands not protecting her anymore, he reached down and grabbed the front of her shirt, began to tear it off her. He ripped the buttons off with effort, opening her to the cold deserted room. “See?” he asked, as he grabbed her other wrist and pinned it down to the cot. “This is what you get, sweetie.” She came back to her senses, began to scream again. When he'd torn her top open, he'd had to let one of her hands go. She lashed out with her suddenly free fist now, instead of just her nails, and caught the bastard in the eye. He recoiled, putting his hand to his face as he stumbled a couple steps back. He took his hand away and looked down at the smeared blood. She'd split open his brow, and he'd smudged a little trickle of his blood. “You fucking hit me,” he said, disbelief filling his voice. “You fucking whore!” he said, louder. “You fucking hit me!” Her eyes widened in fear as her hands came up to defend herself. “Lay another hand on me, you son of a bitch,” she swore despite her wavering voice, “and I'll fucking kill you. So help me God.” “Better start praying, then,” Wayne said, his voice cold as the arctic on a January night, “cause he's the only one that's going to help you.” He closed on her again.

She screamed back. “Fuck you!” If she was going to go out, she wanted to go out kicking, screaming, and standing up for herself.

Chapter 45 Slash He came out of the stairwell, the door banging and clanging against the wall. He shined his light around, searching, straining his ears. Somewhere, down the hallway to his left, he could hear the sounds of screams and struggling. Slash bolted down the hallway, splashing through puddles of water filled with needles, used condoms, and old cigarette butts. He had to stop every twenty feet or so and perk his ears up so he could make out the sounds. It was still there, the sound of a woman’s voice. Wherever Lacey was, she was down here. Finally, after what seemed like hours but had only been moments, he came to a screeching halt in front of an old custodian closet. Lacey screamed again behind the door. “Fuck you!” He tried the door. Locked. He threw his shoulder into it, but it wouldn't budge He tried again, but no luck. “No!” Lacey screamed again. “Fuck you, you stupid whore!” Wayne yelled. Slash drew back from the door, kicked at the spot nearest the door knob, but nothing. It must have been a steel framed door, one that wasn't going to break with any amount of kicking. Gripping his pistol in both hands, he stepped off to the side and fired two shots into the knob. The gunfire echoed through the hallway, setting his ears to ringing with its volume. The doorknob clattered to the ground with a clang and the door fell open. Yellow light from a kerosene lamp spilled out into the hallway. “Help!” Lacey screamed again as Slash rushed in. “Get off of me!” “Wayne!” he yelled as he barged into the room, pistol sweeping the room. He wasn't paying close attention and nearly stumbled over the two Lightning Kings corpses at his feet. When he looked up after catching himself, Wayne already had Lacey, half-naked with her blouse torn open, arranged in front of him as a human shield. In his other hand, he held a fancy-looking chrome-plated Kimber pistol, flashy but sort of weapon a rich kid who knew nothing about pistols would end up buying. “Let her go!” “Fuck you, Dustin,” Wayne shouted back, his gun waving back and forth a little. Blood trickled down from a cut on his right eyebrow. His face was a mask of rage, a twisted caricature of what he'd once looked like. “I'm taking her with me, and we're walking out of here.” “Slash,” Lacey sobbed, her hands up around Wayne's forearm at her neck. “Please, please, please,” she sobbed. Slash clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth. He could kill Wayne right then and there. He knew it, and had no

qualms or ill-feelings. But he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't hit Lacey in the process. And even if the odds were one-in-a-million that he'd hurt her, he still couldn't have pulled the trigger. Wayne didn’t know that though, so kept the gun leveled, kept it trained on the fucker like a magnet. “Back out slowly, Dustin,” Wayne said. “And let us leave.” Slash nodded, his eyes still very much focused. He had no intention of letting this piece of shit live. He’d let him walk out, for now. Slash had twelve bullets left, which meant he still had at least twelve opportunities to kill Wayne. “It's okay, Lacey,” Slash said as he began to carefully back out of the room. “Just keep calm. Alright, babe?”

Chapter 46 Lacey “Stop dragging your goddamn feet, you stupid bitch,” Wayne screeched in her ear as they made their way down the dark hallway. Ironically, it was probably safer that Slash was following them, since that meant they had some kind of light for Wayne to see by. She tried to keep calm, tried to keep her breathing normal. Slash was going to save her. She had to believe that. He looked like a professional, like he'd been saving people from hostage crises all his life, as he strode confidently after them. “You don't wanna do this, Wayne,” Slash said. “You're not gonna be able to pin this on me like you planned.” They stopped at a door that led off the hallway and opened up into a stairwell. Wayne pulled her back with him and they began to slowly climb the stairs, one step at a time. “Think I'm fucked?” Wayne asked. “I got a whole crew of guys, and they all want your head on a platter, Dustin. And they're gonna get it, too!” “The Lightning Kings?” Slash asked as he entered the hallway, his flat black silenced pistol still trained on them. “The guys you promised Battleborn territory to? The guys who ain't running to your rescue right now? You think I didn't take care of them already?” Wayne growled his frustration. She could tell from the way he was holding her, how tightly his hand was digging into her shoulder, that Slash was getting to him. All his plans were coming apart, all his machinations had had a monkey wrench named Battleborn thrown into them. “Fuck you,” Wayne screamed as they reached the top of the stairs and pushed out into the hallway. She realized then, as they backed slowly down the wide corridor, their feet brushing through the variety of detritus on the floor, that they were in the old high school. She idly looked down at the fast food wrappers, condoms, needles, empty spray paint cans that covered the old tile, and wondered for a moment at how long this old building had been this way. “You're going to let us leave,” Wayne said through clenched teeth. “You're going to let us leave, so we can be happy together.” Lacey almost burst out laughing. Somehow, she kept her mouth shut. Setting him off like that right now might get her and Slash both killed. Slash shook his head. “You know I can't do that, Wayne.” They turned down another hallway. “You know, Dustin, if you'd just left well enough alone, things would have been fine. Lacey and I would be happy and married right now.” “You really think I didn't try?” Slash asked. “You came after me and MC, you sent me the invitation to the wedding. Not Lacey. You're sick, Wayne, you're sick in the fucking head.”

They backed up against a door with a push bar, slammed through it into a big, wide open space. The auditorium. Where all this had started? The place where Slash had first told her about his feelings. Where Lacey had first caught a glimpse of the madness behind Wayne's eyes. Where Lacey had made the wrong choice, no matter what Slash said now. Wayne continued to drag her through the crumpled old newspapers, the flattened cardboard boxes, the broken glass, and empty beer cans. Right there, in the middle of the big, deserted gym, Wayne stopped them both. Slash came forward a couple steps, closing the gap a little, before finally coming to a halt, too. Lacey knew, deep down in the pit of her very being, at the core of her existence, that this is where it was going to end. Tonight. Right here. Where it had all started.

Chapter 47 Slash Slash glanced up at the ceiling of the auditorium. He needed to get Wayne's pistol out of commission and Lacey away from him somehow. The ceiling. He saw the beginnings of a half-cocked plan. Wayne's gun was a chromed up elegant version of the first pistol Slash had ever purchased, way back when, when he'd first joined the Battleborn. He'd needed a clean gun to go to the range on, something he could practice with. At the time, Tiny had told him how awful it was, that it was just a rich man's toy, but Slash had liked the feel of it. Tiny had been right, though. The damn thing was more unreliable than Wayne's sanity. Got a speck of dirt on it, it didn't work. Get a brand of bullets it didn't like, it didn't work. Hell, it seemed like if you even got it damp, it would cock up. He remembered one time he'd had the damned thing when they went out to do some shooting at the range while it was raining. Piece of shit pistol jammed more times on him that day than he could even keep track of. And Tiny, God bless the old bastard, laughed his ass off the whole time. Worst money Slash had ever spent, but the experience had been a valuable life lesson. Far above them, running through the rafters of the auditorium, ran a fire suppression system, one of those old ones with the water running through it. Slash knew it was up there because, one time during his sophomore year, some punk kid had put a lighter to one of those little knobs to see it would go off. And during a pep rally, no less. Now, with Wayne's pistol trained completely on him, Slash did the unthinkable. He raised his pistol, over his head. “Slash,” Lacey pleaded, “don't do anything stupid.” He glanced back down at Lacey's scared eyes, mentally crossed his finger and held his breath, and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot true and, with an angry hiss, the water pressure burst through the pipe and began spraying all over them. The school hadn't exactly been diligent about clearing the lines once they'd shut down the building. Dirty, stagnant, brackish water that smelled like something had died in it. But water nonetheless. Wayne laughed and shook his head, droplets of water cascading off the tips of his finally mussed hair. “Think a little water is gonna somehow trip me up? Make me lose my cool? Think you're funny or something, Dustin?” He hadn't thought that in the least. Slash shook his head. “No, it's already funny enough, even if you are holding my woman hostage.” “Your woman?” Wayne screeched. “Yours? Mine! Mine, you piece of shit! She's always been mine!” He leveled the pistol at Slash and pulled the trigger. Slash blinked, prayed silently that his plan had worked. There was no sound of gunfire, no combustion of

power, no bullet leaving the chamber. There was just a loud, disappointing click. Wayne looked down at his gun in confusion, gave it a shake. “Bullshit!” he screamed in frustration. “Tell you what,” Slash said, holstering his pistol, “since your toy ain't working, why don't we settle this like real men?” Wayne barked out a harsh laugh, the water still coming down on them like it was a five-alarm fire going. He shook his head and dropped his pistol to his side, but still held it and Lacey firm. He still needed her as a shield, it seemed. “What'd you have in mind, Dustin?” Slash slid a knife from its sheath. Its black metal seemed to glow, wet and dull from the dim light coming in through the dusty windows. There might not be a moon, but there were still stars in the sky. He tossed the knife down between him and Wayne. The blade splashed down in the water, and the assistant DA's crazed eyes settled on it. He looked from the knife up to Slash, then back again. He nodded, a sense of finality in the gesture, then released Lacey. Before he reached for the knife he growled and swung around and slammed the butt of his pistol into the side of her head, right on her temple. She went down like a bag of rocks, collapsing into the shallow water. “Lacey!” Slash called. “Bitch is fine,” Wayne said dismissively as he bent down and plucked the knife from the water. He gripped it like he had some inkling of what he was doing. “This is between you and me now, Dustin.” “Always been about the three of us,” Slash replied, frowning as he looked down at the knife in Wayne's hand. He drew another knife, a matching weapon to the one Wayne held, from the sheath on his thigh. “Hasn't it?” Wayne nodded as they began to circle each other. “It has. Long as I can remember. You were always there, Slash, even in our bedroom before she became such a fucking bitch to live with. I could always feel you, feel her want for you.” “That why you wanted to destroy me, then?” Slash asked as he backed away from Wayne, drew him out and away from Lacey. “You wanted her to think I was complete trash, so she'd forget about me?” Wayne came closer, a few cautious steps at a time. “Something like that,” he said, lunging point first at Slash as he said the last word. Slash danced out of his way, sidestepping him. In America, he'd found that people don't respect knives the way they should. Everyone thought guns were the pinnacle of weapon technology. Knives, though, could be even more deadly, more brutal than any gun. “Hasn't worked out as you planned, has it?” Slash asked, lunging forward. He caught Wayne under the arm, slashed a nice little slit in the sleeve of his fancy suit. “Has it?” he asked again.

“Now she'll just have to cry over your corpse,” Wayne said, lunging forward. Slash jumped back, but he was too slow and cocky. He left his leg extended a little too far, and Wayne got him in the meat of his thigh. He went down under the pain, his leg nearly buckling. Wayne was over him in a flash, like a natural born predator. His knife flashed in his hand, going straight for Slash's chest. Slash caught his wrist and held the blackened blade at bay. He struggled against Wayne's arm, his teeth gritted in a grimace. For a lawyer, he was certainly strong. Slash was holding the knife back from his ribs, but just by a hair. “Don't fight it, Dustin,” Wayne said as he brought up his other hand to back him up. He shoved hard, and Slash slipped in the water. The president of the Battleborn fell to his back, with Wayne following right after him. He strained with every fiber of his being, silently cursing his cockiness and self-assuredness. He never should have gotten tripped up like that, never should have been in this position. Teeth bared like a wild animal, Wayne put all his weight on the tip of the blade, driving it against Slash's exhausted arms. Slash pushed against him, tried to inch the blade away, but as much as he struggled the blade still shifted down towards him, towards his heart. Wayne put in one last push, droplets of water shaking off his hair and landing on Slash's face. The knife came closer. Closer. Marching like time. It pressed into Slash's chest, the sensation searing and hot as it slowly parted his skin and began to draw blood. Slash grunted as the fiery pain erupted. It was no use. He felt his arms about to give way. This was it. This was the end. “Fuck you, Wayne!” a woman's voice screamed from above them. Wayne blinked rapidly, and Slash felt him release his strength. The assistant DA turned his head to the side, distracted. Lacey stabbed him in the throat with the jagged stump of a broken wine bottle. It happened so fast it almost seemed to Slash like it had just sprouted from his neck. Wayne reached up, touched the remains of the glass bottle, and ran his fingers along its smooth, wet surface for a moment. He stood, a confused look in his eyes, and tried to speak. Nothing came out but a bloody burble of surprise as he fell back. He coughed again. Then, he was still as a grave as the water continued to pour down over them all. Slash got up on his elbows, raised himself up and looked around. “Slash?” Lacey sobbed, tears running down her face. “Slash, baby, are you okay?” She came running over and crushed herself to him, still sobbing as he wrapped his arms around her. “I'm fine, babe,” he replied, running his hand over her wet hair, “I'm fine.” “I love you,” Lacey whispered before kissing him hard on the lips.

He broke their kiss, touched her face. He'd never seen a more beautiful one in his life, even if it was covered in tears. “Oh God, I love you, too, babe,” he whispered. “I love you, too.” # # # Slash and Lacy stumbled out to Tiny's Prius. They'd taken a few moments inside to ‘clean up’ the crime scene. Slash put his clean unregistered pistol in Wayne's hand and fired it a few times, then wiped down the champagne bottle. With any luck, when the cops came calling, they'd find a crazed scene, maybe a deal gone wrong. Whatever it was, it would lead back to Wayne. All of it. Tiny was in the car, waiting for the two of them to get in. “Lacey,” Slash said, squeezing her hand. “I ... I just wanted to let you know ...” “Spit it out, Slash,” she said, smiling up at him. He sighed and shook his head. He didn't know how to do this, how to offer this to her. His tongue felt all twisted and tied up. He took a deep breath, tried again. “I have enough money for you to buy a ticket. A ticket anywhere in the world.” Her mouth fell open a little as she just shook her head. “You're not getting rid of me like that,” she said flatly. “Getting rid of you?” Slash asked, a little shocked she'd think that. “You think I'm trying to get rid of you?” She slipped her hands around his waist. “What are you trying to do, then?” “Give you an option out,” he said. “A way to leave this place.” “But, I like this town. And I love you.” She put her arms around his neck as she stood up on tip toes. She drew his lips down to hers. “Why would I ever want to leave?”

Chapter 48 Lacey The year passed by in a flash. When all the papers and news programs covered the story, they kept Lacey more or less out of it. She was mentioned as the ex-fiancée, but the cops ruled her out as a suspect early on. The papers didn't even mention the Battleborn or their quiet release as their lawyer Mitchell Sherman petitioned for them one-by-one. The courts, and the cops alike, were more than happy to put as much distance between themselves and the memory of Wayne Walker. To put it mildly, it had become a real shit show down at city hall. As Slash drifted off to sleep next to her, her naked body pressed against him in their bedroom at their new home and she thought back over how things had changed in the last year. She was back in school, working on her Master’s degree. She was going to help women who had been abused like she had. Fresh B & B now had two locations, and the Battleborn were completely out of their previous illicit trades. Smiling, she rolled over to face her man. And, of course, the sex was still amazing. Even this last time, five minutes before. Life couldn't have been better. Of course, one other important thing had changed, too. “Hey Slash,” she whispered. “Yeah, babe?” he asked, pulling her closer to him. “I have something to tell you.” “What's up?” he asked, turning to face her. She smiled sweetly and leaned into kiss him. “You're going to be a daddy.” He grinned from ear to ear and kissed her again. “Really?” he asked, as excited for the future as she was.

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