Rock's Redemption(Insurgents MC Romance Book 8)(26)

Her face was taut. "Armand isn't going to be happy about me leaving Frederick," she said in a low voice.

"Fuck him. He's always been a pain in the ass. ‘Bout time he learned how to work."

"Yeah." She put her fingers to her mouth and chewed her cuticles. "I'm  not sure what my plans are. Frederick has given me twenty-four hours to  decide, and he's always prompt."

"My prez gave me a timeline too, only mine's longer. We'll figure it  out." He stood up. "I'm going to get a beer. Want something?" She shook  her head and he walked toward the bar.

Lola was leaning against the bar laughing with the new prospect when  Rock came up. "Hey, prospect. Gimme a Coors on tap. Now." The young  man's smile wiped off his face as he rushed to serve a patched member.  Rock chuckled.

"You're such a mean SOB sometimes," Lola chided as she ran her fingernail up his arm.

Rock drew his arm closer to his body. "You gotta show the new ones  they're in for hell so they appreciate the patch even more. What the  fuck is this dude's name, anyway?"

"Buzz. He's pretty cute."

"Yeah, well he's off-limits ‘til he's patched."

"I know. I was just commenting. Oh, I forgot to give you a letter that  came for you in the mail yesterday." She pulled a white envelope from  the pocket of her jean shorts, placing it in his hand. "Here you go,  handsome."

He looked at it, noticing the address was handwritten again and the  postmark was Lafayette. He ripped it open and a single sheet of paper  fell out. Written on it was one sentence: "Your father did not kill your  mother." The sentence was also handwritten, but it wasn't in the same  script as the one that had contained the mojo bag.

"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered under his breath as he reread  the note again and again. Like I fuckin' believe this. He shoved the  envelope and note into his jeans pocket and headed back to the table.

For the next half hour, Clotille tried to make small talk with him but  his mind was on the strange note and what it said. Was it true? How  could that be? His dad had the goddamned bloody knife by him and his  damn fingerprints were all over it. At the trial, he'd insisted he  hadn't hurt his beautiful wife, Marie. He'd testified that he'd had some  moonshine at the casino and it'd hit him real hard so that by the time  he'd come home, he'd been drunker than he'd been in a long time. He  hadn't been able to remember much of anything about that night except a  lot of banging around, yelling, and a woman screaming. The jury hadn't  bought his story, and he was convicted and placed in maximum security.  Rock hadn't bought it at all either. He still didn't.

He reread the note again. Is this fuckin' possible? I know Pa killed  Maman. Why would someone kill her? She was the sweetest woman I've ever  known. No fucking way. So who the hell is messin' with me?

Rock turned the note over in his hands again before he folded it in half  and placed it back in the envelope. For as long as he could remember,  he'd hated his old man and he thought the bastard got exactly what he  deserved.

But now the note had arrived and for the first time since his father's  conviction, a scintilla of doubt poked at the dark recesses of his mind.





Chapter Eleven





"How the fuck didn't you know that Rock lived so close to Aspen?" the  man growled. "That's sloppy work, and you know I don't like it. I'm  giving you too much money to be fuckin' something like this up."

"What's the big deal if he's there?" a deep voice answered. "He's joined a damn motorcycle club, so he's out of the picture."

"He fuckin' saw Clotille." The dark-haired man leaned against the desk  in his tastefully furnished office. He had a bitter tang in his  mouth-dealing with trash always had that effect on him.                       
       
           



       

"How the hell did that happen?" The shorter man sat down on one of the plush chairs lining the wall.

"Frederick hired some outlaw biker club to do security for one of his  fucked-up dinner parties. Rock was one of the guys. What the hell are  the chances of that?" He laughed wryly.

"Why the fuck would he hire a biker gang? He's supposed to be smart."

"Fuck if I know. Damnit! He's livid. Clotille's run away."

The shorter man rose to his feet, sweat tickling down his face. "And she's with him? Fuck!"

The man adjusted the lapel on his Armani suit. "Don't panic. He doesn't  know if she's with him, but you and I do. We know her and we fucking  know Rock." He tapped his fingers against his desk.

"Does Frederick know Clotille knows Rock?"

"No, and I don't plan to tell him, so don't shoot off your fucking mouth. Got it?"

The shorter fellow wore casual pants and a striped polo shirt. He wiped  his sweaty palms on his pants. "As long as the old man lives we risk  going down for the murder, especially since there's still a living  witness."

"The old lady kept her mouth shut, and as long as we keep paying her,  we're good. The problem is if Clotille doesn't go back to Frederick.  Then he'll cut me off which means you're off the payroll. We can't risk  losing the money. When I get a hold of Clotille, she better get her ass  back or else I'll take away the one thing she loves the most. She had an  agreement and she's fucking blown it."

"And if we can't pay the old woman, then her memory will miraculously come back. You watch and see."

The taller guy walked behind his desk and sat down on his buttery  Italian leather chair. "I'm not going to wait to see if that happens.  I'll have to take care of everything because you're a dumbass and  Clotille's a fuckup. I should've had Rock killed when he was in prison."

"Let's just deal with one thing at a time. The most important thing  right now is getting Clotille to go back to Frederick. If that link's  gone, the whole fucking chain breaks."

"And there's no way I'm going to let that happen. If she doesn't  cooperate, I'll make her watch everyone she's ever loved be destroyed,  and then I'll kill the spoiled little bitch with my own hands. She's not  going to fuck this up for me." His eyes narrowed as he opened the mini  fridge near his desk, took out a sparkling Pellegrino, and poured it in a  tall glass.

Clotille knew the score and she'd agreed to play.

He hated when things changed mid-game.

He was a competitive bastard, and he played to win.

At all costs.





Chapter Twelve





Clotille watched out the window as a large van pulled into the club's  parking lot and stopped at the front door. A burly man jumped out of the  driver's seat and walked around to the back of the vehicle, then slid  the door open. Several women came out carrying makeup cases. More than  the majority had on tight jeans and tops that showcased their ample  cleavage. They scurried into the club as the van pulled away and parked  in the back of the lot.

A steady stream of chrome and metal made its way into the Insurgents'  lot, the riders clad in black leather and denim. A few women teetered on  four-inch heels waiting by the guard station until the prospect cleared  them for entry. There was an air of anticipation among the women and  men, and Clotille felt a rush of excitement skate over her just from  watching the people below.

"You can have the bathroom. I'm done." Rock's scent of cloves and  leather wafted around the room. She loved the way he smelled. When he'd  leave the room she'd rush over and pick up his pillow or folded sheet,  inhale deeply, and let herself get lost in his scent.

She turned around and her breath caught as she took in six-foot-one  inches of raw power and manliness. He was shirtless, rummaging through  the second drawer in his dresser, and she took the opportunity to admire  his hard muscles beneath taut, tanned skin and the enticing tats on his  arms, back, and chest that danced with each breath he took. He stood up  and caught her ogling. She spun away, blushing.

He chuckled. "You don't need to turn away. I like it when you check me out. It's hot."

Under half-lidded eyes, she gazed up at him and locked onto his  rock-hard torso, his to-die-for sculpted six-pack, and the dusting of  dark hair trailing from his belly button and disappearing beneath the  low-riding waistband of his tight jeans. All of a sudden the room grew  smaller and hotter, and her body hummed with desire. She licked her lips  and gave him a crooked smile. "I definitely like what I see."                       
       
           



       

He winked at her and slipped his T-shirt over his head. "We're going to  have to do something about that, chérie, but for now, I gotta get  downstairs. When you're done getting ready, text me and I'll come up.  Tonight there'll be a lot of guys from the other chapters in the state,  as well as Wyoming, Utah, and Nebraska."