Battle Hearts Read online

  “You sterilised everything. I cleaned the wound. It’ll be good until Doc can check it out. Don’t worry about me, Birdie. I’ve survived worse shit than this.”

  “How many times have you had to stitch yourself up?”

  He brings his hand up and smooths my hair off my face. His touch is gentle. Loving. “That’s all in the past, angel. I’d rather talk about you. Did you give yourself the injection?”

  Winter always refuses to talk about his military days. I don’t blame him, so I let it go. Maybe one day he’ll share that part of his past with me. “I did.”

  “All went okay?”

  “Yes. I was almost as brave as you were stitching yourself up. Actually, no, I was braver.”

  His face breaks out in a smile and I’m glad I could lighten the mood. “Yeah, I bet you were.”

  “I feel so brave that at this point, I’m pretty sure I can do the shot by myself every night if I have to.” I’m still trying to lighten the mood, but there is some truth to my statement. Now that I’ve done it once, I’ve broken the fear barrier and I really do think I’d be okay on my own.

  “Baby,” he says, pulling me close, “tonight was fucked up, but I’m hopeful I won’t get caught out again. I’m doing my damnedest to be home for this every night.”

  I try to keep my body from pressing against his wound as I say, “I know you are, but I want you to know that if stuff comes up that you need to deal with, I’m good now. I’ve got this.”

  “Fuck, Birdie, I don’t want you to do this on your own.” He tightens his hold on me. “And stop pulling away. I want you close.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me.” His tone has turned a little impatient, which tells me he’s feeling some stress. Winter is the most patient man I know and only gets like this when things feel out of control for him.

  Against my better judgement, I give him what he wants; I move into him and put my arms around him. Looking up into his eyes, I smile. “Something happened to me tonight after I gave myself that injection.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t feel so wound up about everything anymore. I feel calm now and believe we’re going to make a baby.”

  “You didn’t believe it before?”

  “Kind of. Maybe. But there was always this disbelief about it happening or working. I don’t know how to explain it and I know it sounds weird, but now that I’ve had the first injection, it feels very real to me and I have faith that I don’t think I had before.”

  He brushes his lips over mine. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

  My smile turns sexy. “No, I’m about to tell you the best thing you’ll hear all day.”

  “What?”

  Pulling his face down to mine, I whisper in his ear, “When you’re up to it, I want sex. Like, really want it.” Last night, Winter was right: I didn’t really want sex. I wanted to make him happy and I thought having sex would do that. I also wanted to give my mind a rest from all the anxious thoughts. Tonight, I want nothing more than to be with my husband, skin-to-skin.

  “Fuck,” he growls, “I’m up for it now.”

  I frown. “Really? Someone sliced you with a knife tonight.”

  “Yeah, and I haven’t touched a drop of whisky to dull the pain because that’s off the table at the moment. So you can bet your ass you’ll be riding my dick tonight because it’s the one thing that’ll take my mind off the pain.”

  “You didn’t drink because of IVF?” I’m stunned. We’ve both been following a healthy eating, no-alcohol diet for months, but I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d had alcohol tonight.

  He nods. “Yeah. I took some painkillers that Ransom gave me, but they’re only just touching the pain.” He scoops his shirt out of the bin, grimacing as he bends. “We’re having sex tonight. I don’t give a fuck if it kills me to do it. Going even a day without you is not how I want to spend my life.”

  I watch him exit the bedroom and wait until I can no longer see him before I rest my hands on the vanity and have the meltdown I’ve been holding in ever since he arrived home. While I’ve been trying to lighten things and telling him about my breakthrough with my mindset over IVF, I’ve been freaking out on the inside. This is all new territory for me, and to say I’m unsure of how to handle it is an understatement.

  The only thing I know for sure is that it petrifies me knowing someone stabbed him.

  I also know I’m going to have to grow some serious lady balls because something tells me this won’t be the last time I’m going to be petrified.

  5

  Winter

  * * *

  “Who the fuck were they?” King asks me early Saturday morning while we wait for Torres to show up for our meeting. He’s referring to the three guys who ambushed Ransom and me on Tuesday night. The night I missed Birdie’s first injection.

  “They were Zenith. Sent in retaliation for us taking one of their biggest customers that day.” Ransom and I had met with our customers in Ballarat and Bendigo that Zenith took from us, and negotiated new terms to keep them. We’d also paid a visit to one of Zenith’s customers in Melbourne and offered him the kind of deal he couldn’t pass up.

  “You’ve taken care of them?”

  “Yeah, and Vic has too.” Vic is the cop we pay to handle any mess we make. He was pissed when I called him the other night. Three dead bodies stressed him out, but I reminded him how much we pay him to make sure any investigations don’t make their way to us. I also handed over information about his ex that I discovered last week. The kind of information that will help him win full custody of his son, something I know he wants. And the kind of information that encouraged him to do what we needed him to do.

  “And you haven’t heard from Zenith since?”

  King looks as perplexed as I feel over this. Ransom and I expected shit to blow up, but the gang has been quiet all week. “Nothing. I’ve got Hunt looking into it for me.” Hunt is our sergeant-at-arms and a guy I served with for years.

  “Axe is around if you need help.”

  “Yeah, Hunt will reach out.” King’s brother Axe also served with us, and he and Hunt work well together.

  King’s attention is drawn to the black Bentley SUV pulling into the lane we’re waiting at the end of. It slowly makes its way to us, and when it comes to a stop, Torres exits from the back. I’ve met with this guy twice and I’m always struck by the fact he never wears anything but a suit. Sure, it’s June and a cool day, but the other times we met with him were warm days and he still showed up in what I’m guessing is his trademark black suit.

  “Torres,” King greets him, his body rigid. On alert.

  Javier steps closer, his dark glasses shielding his eyes. Glancing between us, he says, “King. Winter.” Then, eyeing King, he pulls his glasses off, revealing the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Are we ready to tango today?” His thick Colombian accent fills the air, and I wait for King’s response to his question. King has been stalling on accepting the cartel’s terms; if we’re not ready to do that, we may lose this deal altogether.

  “We’re ready to do a lot of things, Torres,” King says, “but we need to go over the numbers again.”

  “The numbers are set, King,” Torres says, the hard set of his jaw matching the hard tone in his voice.

  “They don’t work for us.” King’s tone is equally as hard.

  Torres's silence is dark, violent almost, while he processes that. When he speaks, his words are painted black. “I don’t appreciate my time being wasted.”

  King’s nostrils flare. “And I don’t appreciate the cartel trying to bend me the fuck over. Your price is too high, and you know it. No one in Australia is going to pay it. And no one is going to want as much as often as we do. You go back to your bosses and negotiate a better price and then we’ll be ready to fucking tango.”

  Torres puts his sunglasses back on, hiding those cold and calculating eyes of his again. Without
another word, he returns to his car.

  “What’s your read?” King asks as we watch the Bentley leave.

  “He has to know you’re right, but he’s unpredictable enough for us not to know which way he’ll go.” Javier Torres is as much like King as he is unlike King. Where King is hot, Torres is cold; where King can be highly emotional, Torres comes across unfeeling; where King has a wild temper, Torres appears to have the glacial kind that rages quietly unseen. From what I’ve heard of Torres, though, the thing they have in common is their volatility when that temper explodes.

  King thinks about what I’ve said and then says, “I give it two days. The cartel want their coke here—they’ll negotiate.”

  A text comes through on my phone.

  * * *

  Hunt: You heard from Striker today? I had him on Zenith watch but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  * * *

  “Fuck,” I mutter. Striker has been sloppy the last couple of weeks and I’ve let it ride because I know he’s having problems with his old lady, but this is unacceptable. Hunt discovered a warehouse he thinks Zenith may be operating from and has a roster in place to keep an eye on it at all times. If Striker isn’t where he should be, he’s not going to like my response.

  * * *

  Me: No. I’ll find him.

  * * *

  “Problems?” King asks.

  “Yeah, but it won’t be a problem soon.”

  King checks his watch. “I’ve gotta go. You gonna be at the clubhouse tonight?”

  “No. I’ve got stuff on at home. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

  He nods. “We’ll go over the plans for the east coast distribution again so that once the first shipment arrives, we’re ready to go.”

  We agree on a time to do this, and after he leaves, I call Striker. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message asking him to return my call. I then call Birdie to advise her of a change in our plans for today.

  “Hey, baby,” she answers. “How much longer till you’ll be home? I’m ready to go. And just so you know, I’m wearing the new lingerie you bought me, and you’re going to love taking it off me later.”

  I break the news to her that I really don’t want to break. “I don’t know when I’ll be home now. Some stuff has come up that I need to take care of.”

  “Oh,” she says, and I catch every ounce of disappointment in that one word. “Okay. I’ll check the movie times and find the later sessions.”

  “I’m sorry, angel. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We end the call and my gut twists with regret. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to postpone or cancel on her this week. I missed her first injection on Tuesday night and I also had to change the plans we had yesterday to spend some time together in the afternoon. She hasn’t once complained, but fuck, I don’t want to keep doing this to her. I also never want to turn up at home in the state I did the night of her first injection. Keeping club violence away from her is one of my top priorities, but I had no choice that night than to take it home. I’ll never forget the look of sheer terror in her eyes when she saw the blood. It’s not a look I ever want to see in her eyes again.

  I shove my phone in my pocket and get on my bike. Striker hasn’t called me back so I’ll go in search of him. And with the way I’m feeling after having to call Birdie, God fucking help him when I find him.

  “Striker! You home?” I call out as I bang on his front door. His bike’s nowhere to be seen so I’m unsure he’s here, and since I’ve been knocking for a good five minutes with no response, I’m guessing he’s not.

  Heading back to my bike, I pull up the address for his old lady on my phone. Striker has an odd relationship in so far as he’s been with this woman for five years, yet they still have separate homes. I don’t blame her, though; he can be a bastard to her.

  Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at her house and spend five minutes knocking on her door, too. Same response here. No answer. And I’m growing angrier by the minute.

  I call Hunt.

  “You found him?” he answers.

  “Not yet. Do we have any other addresses for him besides his and his old lady’s?”

  “Yeah. You want me to check it out?”

  “No, send it through. I’ll go.” At this point, I’m too worked up to go home and give Birdie the best of me. Plus, I want to let Striker know he’s fucked up and I won’t be looking the other way again.

  Hunt sends the address through, and I’m pissed to see it’s a half-hour ride away, but I make the journey and am rewarded with the sight of Striker’s bike in the driveway.

  I receive the same response, though, at this place. No fucking answer when I knock. I’ve no idea whose place this is, but at this point, I don’t really care. Banging harder, I bellow, “Striker! Answer the goddamn door!”

  Another minute or so passes before the front door is ripped open and Striker appears looking trashed. “Fuck, Winter, what the fuck’s going on?”

  My boot thuds as it lands heavily inside the house. Gripping his shirt with both hands, I growl, “You’re in a world of fucking shit. That’s what’s going on.” I barrel him backwards down the hallway and into the lounge room. “Hunt had you down to watch the warehouse this morning. Why the fuck aren’t you watching it?”

  Understanding flashes in his eyes before an excuse I don’t want to fucking hear rushes from his mouth. “Shit, sorry, brother. I clean forgot.”

  I shove him away from me. “You clean forgot. That’s the worst fucking excuse I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  Scrubbing his face, he says, “Melody and I got into it last night—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Striker. That’s not a good enough reason anymore. Hell, we’ve all got personal shit going on, but you’re the only one who doesn’t seem able to pull it together and manage your club responsibilities. That shit ends today.”

  A woman I don’t know enters the lounge room, groggily rubbing her eyes. She looks as trashed as Striker, with mascara smudged all over her face, dirty blonde hair sticking out at odd angles, and wearing a thin T-shirt that covers hardly any of her body. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  He scowls and points towards the hall. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

  She returns his scowl. “This is my fucking house, asshole.”

  Moving to her, he grips her arm tightly. “And I fucking pay for it, Tara, so get the fuck out of this room.”

  As he drags her out, she grumbles, “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  He bends his face to hers and says something I can’t hear. Whatever it is, it convinces her to do as he says. “Fucking hell,” he mutters as he comes back to me when we’re alone.

  “It’s no wonder you’re having fucking problems,” I say, unable to keep my opinion to myself. I don’t generally get involved in club members’ personal lives or relationships, but Striker’s managed to draw enough anger out of me today that I’ll tell him exactly what I think.

  He doesn’t like that and hits me with the same scowl he gave Tara. “My problems are none of your business.”

  “They are when they affect your ability to get the shit done that’s asked of you.”

  “I’ve missed a few things—”

  “You’ve missed more than a few fucking things,” I roar, his dismissal of his screw-ups causing me to see red. “And you’ve fucked up shit that shouldn’t have been. I’ve let it all ride because I knew you had stuff going on at home. But like I said before, that ends today. I want your ass out of here as soon as I leave. You’re on watch for the rest of the day and all day tomorrow. After that, I’ll have a list longer than you can fucking imagine of shit I want taken care of.” I move closer to him. “And if you so much as mess one thing up, arrive late to anything, or fucking miss something again, I’ll bring a world of fucking hurt down on you.”

  The scowl remains on his face, but there’s also surprise in his eyes. I’ve never spoken to any club memb
er this way, and he knows it. I’ve never had to because no one has stepped out of line in the year the club has been in existence.

  When he doesn’t respond to what I’ve said, I bark, “Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” he grits out.

  I take a step back. “Good. Keep it that way.”

  With that, I turn and stalk out of the house.

  Fuck.

  I need to get home to Birdie and not only because she’s waiting for me, but also because when I’m wound up like this, she’s the one person who can help untangle my knots.

  6

  Birdie

  * * *

  I stare at the phone as I place it on the coffee table in front of me. Is she fucking kidding? I can barely contain the rage the phone call I’ve just had with a staff member has brought out in me. Snatching the phone back up, I call Cleo, who answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, babe, how are you today?” she says.

  Gripping the phone hard, I say, “Not fucking good.”

  “Oh God, what’s happened?”

  “Juanita just called and advised me she’s taking next week off work because she wants to fly to Tasmania to help her sister get ready for her wedding. Apparently her sister hurt her ankle and is struggling to get things done. I sympathise, but to take a whole week off with no notice isn’t something I’m okay with. Especially not when next week will be flat out and we’re already down one team member.”

  “Wow. What did you say to her?”

  “I told her no fucking way, but she told me she’d just quit if I said no. So I told her to quit because I refuse to work with someone who does stuff like that. Which means I now have to either find people to replace her or do the shifts myself, and I’m thinking it’ll be the second option because the roster is super tight next week.” I fan my face as it heats. Actually, my entire body is heating. “And what the hell is going on with the weather in Melbourne today? One minute it’s hot, the next cold. I’m getting whiplash from it.”