SPARROW (ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB Book 2) Read online

  Remember what she was? Oh, she knew who she was. She was Donald “Ducky” Oliveira’s daughter. His “menina.” It was the only reason she put up with Pipes’ shit—though she was approaching her breaking point—at break neck speed.

  Pulling her knees to her chest, watching him, doing her best to protect herself by curling into a tight ball while her cheek throbbed, she weighed her options. There had to be a way to get out of this and keep her ties to the club. Though now that he had his patch, had been voted in and earned his colors, she may have shot herself in the fucking foot.

  “Don’t make me do that again.” His voice was raspy and low, and it was all she could do to bite back a retort so he wouldn’t. She hadn’t made him do shit, but this was not the time to argue that fact. If she clapped back, if she ran off at the mouth, the look in his eyes told her he was unpredictable. A slap from a biker was the least of her worries.

  While he’d lost substantial muscle mass since she’d known him, he wasn’t a slouch. He could pack a punch. She’d seen him in the ring for the club sponsored fights. He knew how to hurt someone when he wanted to—and she had no desire to be on the receiving end of his want to hurt.

  Then, like a light switch went off, his expression softened. His tight mouth released, his eyes warmed, and he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Lowering his hand, he gazed upon her with remorse, which filled her with dread and hesitance. When his shoulders slumped, he reached for her. Hyper aware of everything he did, she flinched. He’d laid a hand on her shoulder, but didn’t seem to notice her reaction.

  Disbelief swirled with the anger inside, both fought to be the dominant emotion in the wake of what’d just happened. Fear mingled in for good measure and she was the perfect cocktail for frozen in place, unsure how to respond.

  “There’s a lot of stress at the club right now.” The admission sounded like a burden he’d carried for some time. “I just want to keep earning so we can start a life. Things will calm down.” His voice had lost its bite. “And when they do…”

  Bending down on one knee beside her, he reached for her face. She winced, turning away. She’d never expected him to be a man who’d hit a woman. At least the Pipes she knew before all this wouldn’t. The man she knew before she introduced him to the club—he’d been sweet and funny. This new Pipes—addict Pipes—patched member of the Roughneck Riders Pipes, he wasn’t someone to fuck with and didn’t smile. He’d just set a precedent so she didn’t know what to expect from him. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

  Trailing his fingertips along her heated cheek, the one he’d struck, he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before cupping her face and pulling her toward him.

  She closed her eyes in the face of his apology. She’d seen enough movies “for women” on cable television to know that’s what they all say. She felt like such a cliché.

  Resting his forehead against hers, Pipes inhaled audibly. “You know I’m not that kind of guy. I’m just under a lot of pressure. It’s been a year of this shit, and it’s only getting harder. With the shit going down…” he trailed off and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It won’t happen again.”

  Swallowing hard, she tried to process his apology and his promise. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that once the hitting started, it’d happen again. She’d seen it plenty of times at the clubhouse, but that begged the question, was that part of being a woman of the club? Hell, even her own parents got physical every now and then.

  Overwhelmed with the shame of being hit, and his presence, the way he held her, the sincerity in his words. The knowledge about this lifestyle that she desperately wanted to stay a part of so she had something, just one thing that kept her close to her father, it was too much. She just didn’t want to deal with it.

  Placing her hands on his wrists, she nodded against his forehead. What else was she going to do, call him a liar? When he pulled away, his hands fell from her face.

  “I love you, Sparrow,” he said as he squeezed her fingers. “I want to make you my Ol’ Lady. Like we talked about. It’s just going to be rough for a little bit longer. I’m sorry. I really—I’ll do better. It won’t happen again. I’m just trying to earn us stable so I can take care of you.” He took a breath as he pressed his forehead against hers. “They’re gonna keep testing me. They have to make sure I’m loyal and that I put the club first.”

  She nodded, well aware of the process. She’d been around the club her whole life. They had their hierarchy, prospects were the lowest, then members, and then officers. He’d barely gotten his member patch. She didn’t doubt most still thought of him as a prospect. Hell, Tut was probably still pissed about Pipes beating his ass while he was sponsoring him.

  They weren’t known to forgive and forget. Tut, especially, held grudges.

  “Yeah, I know,” she croaked a whisper. She just wanted to be done with it. There wasn’t any other answer.

  “It’ll get better. I promise.”

  “I know,” she lied. She forced a smile and tried to believe it. If she said it out loud, it’d come true. Right?

  He was a good guy. He’d always been a good guy before. Stress changed people. Prospecting a club was the most stressful thing she’d ever seen, and he’d just barely gotten past that part. He was a new member. She could give him this one pass. Give him time to settle in, get used to his patch.

  Chapter 4

  Sparrow

  After hours of riding through Ohio’s Amish communities, Pipes stopped the bike on the side of the road in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. The sky darkening slightly as dusk set in, he cut the engine.

  “You up for a little walk?” he asked, offering his profile as his hand slid up and down Sparrow’s thigh.

  Glancing around the trees and farmland, she drew her eyebrows together. “Are we out of gas?”

  He chuckled, offering her a gentle pat to her thigh. “Got plenty.”

  “Where are we gonna go?” she asked as her stomach fluttered nervously. Sparrow wasn’t exactly the outdoorsy type. The last time she’d been camping it was for Wetzelland as a kid. She never gone back since her father passed.

  “You’ll see,” he said, urging her off the bike. “It’s a surprise.”

  Frowning, she pulled an orange flavored Tootsie Pop from her pocket, peeled the wrapper down, and stuffed it in her mouth, demonstrating her annoyance. She had zero desire to hike—at night. She didn’t even have the proper shoes for that. Motorcycle boots weren’t meant for all terrain.

  Once they’d both dismounted the bike, he reached for her hand. Their fingers interlaced, and her grumping ceased. A smile spread on her lips when he tugged her against his body. “It’s not a far walk,” he said as he pointed. “Tranquil Valley Lake is just down there.” He gestured ahead of them before he slid his hand into his pocket. “This should take the edge off,” he said as he pulled a small baggie of joints from his leather jacket.

  Tucking her head against his side, she smirked. “That does make the outdoors a lot more palatable.”

  Tingles radiated throughout her body. Her toes itched against her socks. Her bra grated against her nipples. The seam of her jeans sat perfectly against her cleft as she straddled Pipes, grinding against him.

  Just a little bit more pressure and she could…

  She held the final inhale of the second joint in her lungs, letting the burn ripple through her. The desire to peel off her clothes and feel the night kiss her skin danced in her head as she turned to the side.

  The rough callous of his hands felt electric as they slid under the hem of her shirt, pulling a groan of ecstasy from her. The red hot fire of his mouth against her neck had her shuddering against him. “Fucking Christ, what kind of weed is this?” she asked on her exhale.

  Chuckling before he bit down, she again quivered against him. Her sensitive nipples begging to be freed from the bra holding them up. “It’s split,” he rasped before his tongue slid against her shoulder.
r />   “What?” she asked as though her brain couldn’t compute his words.

  “I laced them with coke,” he admitted as he peeled her shirt from her body. “It makes the high from weed better and the coke less intense, the best of both words,” he said as he peeled the cups of her bra down.

  “Wha—” Her words were ripped from her throat—from her mind by heat and suction on her right nipple while the other was tweaked. “Fuck…” she gurgled as she resumed grinding against him.

  Staring at the joint in her hand as she sat in the window of their apartment, she returned from the memory of their last date before introducing him to Bowie—before she got him involved with The Roughneck Riders.

  Weed had been the hardest drug she’d ever used until that night. She’d never trusted him to smoke any of his weed again. Because of the way he dosed her, she never had an interest in cocaine, he’d left a bad taste in her mouth.

  They’d had a beautiful date. They rode sweeps, hills, and twists. The food in the Amish country had been phenomenal. Then the lake. She closed her eyes and tucked the joint away. No. She didn’t need it. She didn’t want it.

  Pulling her knees up to her chest, she turned and rested her cheek on them. Looking out the window, she sighed. He’d been sweet once. That was the last date they went on. He hadn’t taken her to so much as a movie since then.

  Club business.

  He always had to do something for the club. It consumed every waking moment of his life. If he wasn’t busy being their lackey, he was stoned out of his fucking mind or he was locked up for the shit they made him do.

  The Roughneck Riders ruined him.

  They ruined her father.

  They ruined her mother. She’d once been an Ol’ Lady and now. Sparrow shook her head.

  What was she doing with her life?

  Chapter 5

  Romeo

  WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

  It took far too many slaps of the gavel for Romeo’s brothers to calm down and focus on Monty. Or that could have just been his opinion. They were a bunch of criminal bikers. It wouldn’t really be their style to be calm and civil, would it?

  Then again, he still needed a minute to grapple with the rectangular patch which had come down the table his way. Enforcer. Shit. His gaze found Dash.

  The older biker leaned over the table, resting on his elbows. His focus locked on the club president while he absent-mindedly cracked his knuckles. A stupid grin spread across Romeo’s face as the realization hit. For the first time since he’d met the bald biker they were equals in the eyes of the club.

  “On a national level, the club has agreed to patch over the Roughneck Riders MC in Ohio,” Monty said. “We’re going to allow Bowie to remain as president.”

  The men around Monty nodded. Romeo scanned the men at the table. This was heavy shit and he wanted to make sure his response aligned with the rest of them. Nothing would be worse than on his first night at the table if he acted like a hang around. He’d never live that shit down. Stoic. He could do that.

  “We don’t trust their VP,” their president continued as his bottom lip bulged when his tongue slid along his lower teeth. His gaze swept to his left and his right. The men there, Tex and Clark, only nodded. “Clark is going to take over as their VP,” he said with a small smile. The pride rang in his voice as he clapped their brother on the back.

  Clark, who looked a lot like that guy who played superman—he even had that little curl thing on his forehead—dipped his chin in respect. “I appreciate the faith you all have in me.”

  “Which leaves the SAA spot open,” Monty continued.

  Romeo once again scanned the table. The officers of the club all had their focus on the head of the table—where their president sat leading the meeting. He needed to do that. Focus!

  “Your brothers have nominated Dash to take his place.”

  At that moment, Romeo realized this little speech was for his benefit. He’d not been in the room and privy to all this. He’d not been a part of the votes. He shifted in his seat, sparing his sponsor a glance, catching his eye. The two offered a respectful chin jut of acknowledgment.

  Romeo couldn’t argue with the choice. The stocky bald man had been an Enforcer, it seemed the next logical step. He’d do the club proud.

  “Once again, that leaves a position vacant.” Monty sighed heavily, sounding tired of it all. “This time Enforcer.”

  “I nominated you,” Tex said, turning his focus from Monty to his son.

  Romeo stilled in his chair. Outwardly, his face gave no other indication of a reaction. Just like he’d been observing all the others doing. Deadpan, his gaze scanned the officers of the club. While the men looked at him, they too were keeping their cards close to the vest. He’d been spot on to do the same. Maybe he’d really gotten this biker thing down.

  “I seconded it,” Dash chirped.

  Of course, he did. He’d been Romeo’s sponsor. Hell, it went beyond that. Ever since Dash started with the club, he and Romeo had been inseparable. Romeo really looked up to the man, who was six years his senior. Club rules said that a member couldn’t sponsor family, so Dash stepped up, just like he did now. No one had his back like Dash.

  Clearing his throat, Romeo felt the urge to acknowledge all this. He had to say something. Leaning forward, his forearms rested on the sacred table, the Odin’s Fury table in the sanctuary that was church. These were the hallowed halls where all the decisions were made. What a fucking honor to be at this table.

  Nothing.

  All his brothers stared at him. He had to say something.

  Nope.

  Searching his brain for some sort of speech, a movie quote—hell, a song quote at this point would be better than silence. He needed something. Something humble, but inspirational. He should say something about being grateful for the opportunity and honored they chose him.

  Hell no. That was corny as hell. Panicking internally, outwardly still, he remained silent.

  His father swirled his glass of tequila and lofted his brows in expectation. His free hand lifted before he rolled his wrist, giving him the ‘well, go on’ gesture.

  Fuck.

  “Fury forever. Forever Fury.”

  Another round of hoots and hollers rang out. Men slapped at the table with their open palms. Some used their closed fists. Looking across the table, he saw the smile of approval from his father as he brought the drink to his lips for a sip. Shifting his gaze, he got the nod from Dash.

  He’d said the right thing.

  WHACK.

  WHACK.

  WHACK.

  Clearing his throat, Monty put the gavel down. “We ride tomorrow.” He gestured to Clark. “And when we do, Clark will ride in the SAA position, with Dash behind him, and Romeo behind him. After we take out the last bit of trash for Bowie, Clark will get his patch.”

  All the celebration whooshed out of Romeo—sucked right out of the room as far as he was concerned. Ohio? Fucking Ohio. He had no want, or need, to go back to that fucking state. The Roughneck Rider territory could burn to the goddamn ground and he’d be just as happy.

  The gavel once more took residence in the president’s hand. “Anyone got any other business?” he asked, though his voice sounded tired, like he’d had enough. Even his brothers had already started to stand, stretching, ready to start their nights.

  As much as he wanted to, Romeo kept his fucking mouth shut.

  With a final slap of the gavel, Monty called an end to church.

  Remaining in his seat, he accepted the congratulatory back slaps from his brothers as they passed. All the while he stared at the profile of the Norse god carved into the center of their table. The member patch had to be removed from his cut, replaced with his new officer one—Enforcer. A goddamn honor.

  Jesus fucking Christ. He scrubbed his face.

  Up until the announcement that he’d be going back to goddamn Ohio, he’d been eager to join his brothers in the sewing circle—downright giddy, in fact.
Now, he couldn’t bring himself to rise out of a chair. He couldn’t take his eyes off the high cheekbones or the flowing hair of the Viking deity.

  He’d rather chew glass than go back to that hell hole of a clubhouse. He didn’t want to risk running into her. And he sure as shit didn’t want to know something that he’d purposely gone out of his way to avoid knowing about—whether or not she became that douche canoe’s Ol’ Lady.

  He smelled the tequila coming off his breath like a cologne and it gave him away long before the faux leather chair wheezed as he sat down. Tearing his gaze away from the motorcycle club’s namesake, he took in his father.

  Cocking his head to the side, the older man’s soft, albeit glassy, blue eyes studied his son. He placed his mostly empty glass on the table while he pursed his lips, bracketed by a once dark brown Fu Manchu, now peppered with gray hairs.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you aren’t too happy to be heading out with us tomorrow,” he drawled as he turned his attention to his glass.

  Romeo snorted. “What’s not to love about a twenty-four-hour ride with my brothers?” he asked with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

  His father smiled. “Oh, with all the old assholes on this ride, you know it’s going to be more like forty hours. Half of us got prostate issues, the other got the diabetes, and need to pee every twenty minutes.” He brought his glass to his lips.

  Romeo couldn’t help but laugh at the joke. In reality, while they looked road-weary and haggard—biker life did that to men—Romeo would put money that no one had passed sixty yet. “You really think you can make it?”

  Tex arched a brow as he swallowed the drink. “You keep talking like that, you aren’t going to make it out of this room.”

  Now there was a strategy to get out of Ohio, get his ass beat. Though, fucking up the night of his promotion to an officer just didn’t sit right with him.

  “I’m proud of you,” his father said as he finished off his drink.