Vixen: A Steamy Reverse Harem Biker Romance (Claimed by Outlaws #2)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

ISABELLE

I can still see the image painted in blood on the wall of the shack, the crimson kite so much like the one I have tattooed on my back. I can smell the metal. It creates a violent cacophony that echoes in my head, louder than the brutal wind. But at least we’re warm; I’m no longer shivering, though it’s colder outside now that the sun has set. It took two hours to get here from the shack on the water, and I’ve finally lost the sensation of eyes on my back.

But my brain is a twisted nest of briars as I stare into the flames in the hearth. This little house in the middle of the woods doesn’t have electricity, and we need to conserve fuel for the generator. Sparse furnishings, but enough to sit on, even if the loveseat feels like it’s upholstered in burlap. I huddle against the side arm.

Though we’re dry, I don’t feel safe. I still see the dead man too—Pokey. The others called him smarmy, sneaky, a real dickhead, but he didn’t deserve to die for helping us.

For helping… well, me. The bloody symbol left painted on the wall is clearly a message—the man who killed Pokey doesn’t give a flying testicle about anything else. Blade will kill anyone who gets between us.

How the hell did I get here? From escaping captivity to running from an ex-boyfriend? Seriously, universe?

When I left Blade, I did not expect to be locked in a basement by the next man I met. When I escaped Jeff’s basement dungeon, I did not intend to come upon a crime in progress on my way out of town, did not plan to end up with a gang of motorcycle-riding outlaws. I did not plan for Blade to realize that I was still nearby. And I certainly didn’t expect to be on Blade’s radar now—for him to come after me. I still don’t know how he figured it out, but that hardly seems like the issue.

Shit. Doesn’t this just freaking figure?

Cue and Rooster sit in front of the hearth, their faces painted in the jaundiced orange haze from the fire. It glints off Cue’s bald head, his dark eyes glittering meanly, but not with anger. He’s worried. Rooster is too; his ice-blue eyes are locked on the bricks in front of the hearth as if trying to solve a puzzle the rest of us can’t see, his bright red hair in a tight braid down his back. Even his rust-colored beard looks anxious.

Rooster must have felt me looking, because he raises his head and glances my way. “What is it with ye and the fellas?” His Scottish accent is panty-dropping hot on most days, but under the circumstances, it feels pressured. Too heavy.

Cue looks over, his model-esque cheekbones all the sharper in the firelight. Ryder slides onto the couch beside me. I don’t know where he’s been for the past ten minutes, but he’s the only one who actually looks angry, his jaw clenched, his gaze bright with fury and firelight.

“Me and the fellows?” I ask Rooster. It’s a good question, almost as good as Why is your history chock-full of the worst possible men? A shrink would say that my father being a con artist didn’t help me make good choices, but I think it’s probably more my propensity for thrill-seeking. I’m not sure I’ve ever been content just to… be. Even as a child, my father used to send me on treasure hunts if I showed even the slightest hint of emotion. A distraction, sure, but it was also a test—with his chosen occupation, he never wanted to relay information outright—he preferred to talk in code. Now, I have a myriad of codes in my head to help me decipher my father’s information, if I ever get around to going through his things. I left Blade right after he died, and then I was locked in a basement for months, so it’s not as if I’ve had ample opportunity to deal with my father’s storage unit… or his death.

“Aye,” Rooster says from the hearth. “They all love ye.”

It takes me a minute to refocus—to remember what we were talking about. I shake my head. “Blade isn’t after me because he loves me.” Well, he might be, but that’s hardly the biggest reason. “We… let’s say we worked together.”

Ryder frowns. “He was a vet too?” That’s what I told him I was—and I am trained as one. But I’ve never used it to pay the bills. Ryder’s sandy hair glints gold in the firelight. His close-cropped beard, the lines so straight they looked drawn on the night we met, is growing out slightly. Curly near his jaw.

Stop looking at his facial hair, Isabelle. I’m procrastinating. They know very little about my past, but it seems that Blade is intent on dragging it all into the light. Better they hear it from me. Because I know exactly why Blade is after me—why he’ll kill anyone who gets in his way.

“No, he wasn’t a vet. We ran a few smaller cons together. I… skimmed a little off the top.”

Rooster’s rust-colored eyebrows his hairline. “Ye were a thief?”

I inhale deeply and let it out slow. “I was a con artist. I mostly did long cons with my father before I”—my chest tightens—“cut him off, but with Blade, we switched it up sometimes.” He had a jealous streak, so it’s not like I could get close to a mark while I was dating him.

Ryder shakes his head, and I turn his way. He’s leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, as if trying to sit as far away from me as possible.

“I told you I had a history,” I say. “That I ran with another gang, that I dated a Grunge member.”

“But you didn’t tell us you screwed them over,” says a voice from behind me. I turn to see Mack picking his way toward us from the tiny kitchen—lots of boxes stacked in there, mostly pots and pans and essentials. Mack would have a hard time moving around in any small space, though; he’s a beast of a man with black hair and the brilliantly green eyes of a genie. Neck to ankle tattoos like he’s trying to hide who he really is. And I suspect he might be.

I understand that all too well. “I didn’t screw them all over. Just Blade—we always worked alone, and even he doesn’t know my real name. But I had a good reason.”

“And what might that be?” Ryder asks.

“Hiding money from Blade was a contingency plan. He’s a violent guy. Never with me,” I amend when all four sets of eyes snap my direction—they do not tolerate violence toward women. “But he is a killer by trade. This way, he needs information from me, so it’s in his best interest not to slit my throat. I figured I’d be able to see him coming.”

Ryder raises en eyebrow. “He doesn’t know your name is Isabelle? He seriously just called you Kite or whatever?”

The bloody kite from the wall of the shack flashes in my brain, then vanishes. I shrug, aiming for nonchalant, but it feels forced. “In my line of work, you don’t tell people your name.”

“You told us,” Ryder says.

“I wasn’t conning you.”

But the dark gleam in his eyes says that he’s not sure he believes that. That makes my heart spasm, as if my chest has briefly been turned inside out, but it settles quickly. I don’t get close to people—I don’t tell them my secrets. And though I care about these men more than I would have thought possible a few weeks ago, I haven’t exactly been forthcoming. Maybe I thought that, for once, I’d be able to leave my past in the past.

“Still, it would have been good to know if your past was going to bite us in the ass,” Mack goes on. “We already have a significant debt with the same gang.”

My chest goes hot. He’s right, but instead of saying so, I snap: “Would it have mattered? You wanted to throw me out from the beginning. It’s not like you could have possibly wanted to toss me out more.” And it was your brother who kidnapped me, kept me prisoner in his basement, you asshat.

His face softens. “Keeping you safe was my only concern then. And keeping you, and the rest of us, safe is my only concern now.”

I cross my arms and turn back to the others without responding, but the fire in my chest has cooled. He doesn’t have to say that he’s worried about his niece—the daughter of the man who locked me up, the little girl the others think is his. Because of his brother’s psychopathic tendencies, Mack has kept the child hidden from the rest of the world. Protected her. My guys currently foot the bill for anti-rejection meds after a heart transplant that Jeff made necessary after he poisoned Juliette’s—very pregnant—mother. Marissa didn’t make it.

Cue raises a hand from his spot beside the fire, but it’s Rooster who speaks—it’s always someone else who speaks. Never Cue. He, more than any of us, is hiding some deep and significant darkness, but I have not had an opportunity to poke around his past. Maybe I don’t want to know.

“Aye, but Blade is their enforcer. Regardless of his history with her, the Grunge thinks we stole from them.” They didn’t, not on purpose, but I know what he means. It is possible that they sent Blade to punish Pokey for helping us and he got a little carried away with the blood-graffiti.

Rooster pushes himself to standing. “We’ll have a chat with his bruthers, get it cleared up. We have to meet with ’em anyway to discuss our own debt.”

Ryder nods. “We’ll find a way to work it all off. We’re still crucial to their operation… or we will be once I have a few days to work.”

Ryder was a chemist in his old life, and currently creates one-of-a-kind designer drugs for the gang. I’m still not sure what drove him to this place, but we all have secrets that made life outside untenable. At least now, he does wrong for a good reason: to help Mack protect Juliette.

“Do you really think it’ll be that easy?” I say, getting to my feet. Ryder’s anger is making gooseflesh pimple on my arms. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, though I can’t be sure if the rage is born of hate or hurt. “I doubt they’ll take you at your word that stealing from them was a mistake, that you thought you were just trying to reclaim what they asked you to. Especially because we don’t have that jewelry now—it’s not like we can give it back.” We only have the pieces we could carry in our pockets, what we could fit in a single bag with our shoes. Our escape over the border into Montreal—Grunge territory—was not an easy one.

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Ryder snaps, more forcefully than necessary. “But they’re not idiots, and their business is furthered by our cooperation. And apparently, by yours.”

Mine. Yeah. “I can get what Blade thinks I owe him. Though I doubt that’s of any concern to the Grunge.”

“We’ll make sure Blade is only lookin’ fer compensation first, eh?” Rooster’s eyes cloud. “He may well want more than we can give ’im.”

Me—he means me.

I stand. “If I can talk to Blade, I’m sure I can convince—”

Mack shakes his head and walks around the couch to stand at my side. “Absolutely not.” His voice is full of gravel. “We’ll meet with the Grunge to see where we stand. And we’ll go from there.” He lowers his meaty fist to my shoulder—hot. “Whether you trust it or not, you’re ours now for as long as you’ll have us. And we won’t walk you into a slaughter.”