Page 83 of Biker's Enemy

“Come pick up your girl from Sinclairs,” Hawk says in his brief and unbelievably rude voice note to me. No explanation. Quin and the baby are at some Sinclairs in the middle of fucking nowhere. Owen takes Oske back to her people and I get permission from Southpaw to get my girl back from… wherever the hell her ass ended up when I specifically told her to remain somewhere safe.

That woman is impossible to control when it comes to Avery. She has no inherent sense about her and worse, she doesn’t seem to see the need for it. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with Quin once I get her back to make her behave…

It’s gonna take me more than a night to get there and I don’t want her staying at a damn gas station – even if she has a car somehow – so I ask Hawk to put her up at the nicest place he can find that deep in the middle of nowhere.

Quin makes a fuss about my instructions, but Hawk gets her to agree on a LaQuinta suite with a king-sized bed. I consider getting her room number from him and calling her up but I need time to think about how I’m going to handle Quin Nash… and Avery.

The club still has our hands full with the situation out in the desert and the recent attacks all provoke more answers than questions. Deb Shaw has custody of Avery’s mom, but some blond motherfucker and a woman are out there hunting down Avery regardless. We don’t know if they’re on the same side or if shit really hit the fan with the Midnight SS.

Then there’s Ruger’s wife… She knows more than she’s letting on and the boys in the desert who lost their lives must have learned something intriguing. The folks responsible for all that carrying on now are the Shaws and the Sinclairs. I officially have Southpaw’s permission to keep Quin and Avery away from all of this. Truly keep my focus on the family.

I wish I could tell you the drive was something easy on me or even pleasant. The more miles I put on the bike, the further away I get from Ruger beating the shit out of Darlene, the horrible scene of dead brothers, and the potential consequences of an all out war between our biker club and another one.

All of us know what happened when we were young – right before most of us were born and some of us were just toddlers. The Rebel Barbarians had a war with a rival gang over territory along the old Route 66 highway in Texas. The other gang made some effort to intrude upon the land by opening several DVD stores (those were popular at the time), a gas station and then the final straw – a strip club.

Nothing might have happened except they got Lyle Blackwood’s eighteen year old sister as one of the strippers right after high school and all hell broke loose. She’s dead now. Can’t even remember her name but… she died when I was six years old or something. Overdose. Everything about that time brought our fathers into a brooding, negative state. They talked about Iraq more than they talked about that war.

You never want to go to war but you do what you must. And if that’s what you have to do so you can save your family, it’s what you do.

The LaQuinta sits a few miles off the highway in a compound with an Outback Steakhouse, a Red Lobster, and a closed down Panera bread with a sprinter van parked out front. It’s not a Four Seasons, but at least it’s safer than sleeping in that damned Rav-4…

Finding Quin’s Rav-4 in the parking lot brings me some peace of mind. I pull the bike up next to it and stick the keys in my cut pocket. I’ll get a couple of my cousins to come out here and get the bike. Bring it to the next club meeting. That shouldn’t be too long from now… and I have another bike.

More important for me to get to Quin and Avery. I walk into the LaQuinta and meet immediate disapproval from the woman at the front desk until I get all the way into the place. Then she smiles and greets me with a very sonorous Texan drawl.

“You must be Tanner Hollingsworth.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glances down at a sheet of paper and then back at me.

“I’ll let Miss Nash know you’re on your way to see her,” she says. “It’s room 444.”

Her friendliness goes beyond Southern politeness, so I suspect Hawk greased her palm a bit for this extra customer service. I’m just glad he took my strong recommendation to keep Quin Nash safe seriously. Once the good woman at the front desk picks up the phone, I follow the signs to the elevators without much ceremony.

My ass hurts from so many hours on the bike without any real rest and without a few cigarettes, a cup of coffee, and a handful of Quin Nash’s ass cheeks… I doubt I’ll feel anything but tense all the way from my calves to my neck. The elevator seems to crawl and I damn near want to pry the doors open when it slows to a halt.

On the fourth floor, I have to stop myself from sprinting to the room at the end of the hall. When I get to the door, I knock and then impatiently grab the handle without thinking.

“It’s me,” I say. “Quin? Open the door.”

I sound unusually desperate. My cheeks heat up. She has this effect on me and I don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do about it. She takes longer than thirty seconds to get to the door, so I bang on it again. Quin opens the door halfway through my third knock.

Holding Avery. Who looks fast asleep. Quin presses her finger to her lips.

“Avery is sleeping,” she whispers.

My heart and my dick move at the same time. Avery looks so peaceful and cute nestled on Quin’s shoulders and as for Quin… By some goddamn miracle, that crazy ass woman is safe. That’s all I can hope for, right? Her safety. I look at her and Avery with all the love I feel.

“Can I come in?” I ask, suddenly bashful.

“Yes,” Quin says, her protective expression melting into the prettiest smile. From the first damn time I saw this woman, I had this intense attraction towards her and the longer I know her, the more I watch her raise this child she doesn’t need to love, the more I feel for her.

I walk inside Quin’s hotel room, marveling at how she somehow manages to make every space she inhabits feel different and more feminine. She just has that special touch to her that goes beyond her looks and attitude. I swear the damn room smells like one of those patchouli scented candles my mom was obsessed with burning in the living room.

When I shut the door behind us, I finally feel better. We’re alone. Together. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve seen this woman that I don’t know if I can muster any type of self control. She has a blankie spread over the bed, but I don’t want her to set Avery down.

“Wait,” I tell her. “Don’t set her down. I want to say hello.”

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