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  “He was going to pull all his ads if I didn’t.”

  That was the only answer Fritter needed. With a great deal of satisfaction he plowed a fist into Prescott’s soft gut, and the man heaved while bending over, coughing and choking.

  “So Turnbull gets this favor, and what do you get?” Jayce was asking as Fritter stepped back and rolled up his sleeves. “He keeps advertising? I mean, that’s hardly fair. A guy running a business needs to advertise.”

  “No he doesn’t,” Tiny piped up. “He’s the only car dealer in Markham. He doesn’t have to do shit.”

  “And he knows that. He could pull it all anyway.” Jayce leaned over to the side, head almost upside down to peer into Prescott’s face. “So you did this, brought us here, for what? To bring a good woman down?”

  Prescott had the fucking nerve to laugh. “A good woman? Fucking a biker? When she’s a cop?”

  Fritter’s blood went to ice water, and he didn’t hesitate to bring his knee up into the man’s face. Blood spurted out of his nose as Fritter snarled, “What’s wrong with bikers?”

  “Cops need love too, man,” Tiny mumbled as he lit a cigarette, watching Dylan Prescott snort and cough around his probably broken nose. “Especially a fine woman like that.”

  Fritter ignored the twinge of anger that gave him, only because he didn’t care what anyone was saying. He pulled Prescott back up to his feet, leaning him against the wall before drilling his stomach with another right. He jumped back just as the man evacuated his stomach of whatever he’d been having for lunch. It hit the carpet in a sickly splatter and he made a sound of disgust.

  “You knew this would bring us to your door, man.” Jayce’s tone was calm, his hands hanging between his knees as he perched on a long side table. “Why the fuck would you put yourself out there?”

  Fritter connected with his jaw this time, and Prescott face went slack, his eyes blinking oddly. He was going to pass out.

  “Fuck, we’re losing him already,” Fritter mumbled, disgusted.

  “Okay, I deleted the video from the source, but it’s still out there, obviously.” Spaz cut in, rising from the desk.

  “Hey, doesn’t the paper have a Facebook page?” Jayce asked as Fritter gave Prescott another shot, to the ribs this time, and let the man drop to his knees.

  “Yeah.”

  “Get in there. Post an official apology for violating the privacy rights of an elected official. Admit that Dylan Prescott is responsible for the video leaked out last night. We’ll beat the printers that way.”

  Spaz’s smile was growing as Jayce was talking. “You got it. And I’ll change his password and log him out so he can’t take it back.”

  “And if anyone comes asking, you had a clearing of your conscience.” Jayce stood and towered over Dylan. The man was huffing on hands and knees, swaying even in a four-point stance. Jayce squatted and grabbed Prescott’s chin, bringing his face up to look him in the eye. “You admit to everything; taking and posting that video. You wanted a big news story. You don’t have to tell anyone Turnbull put you up to it. I don’t expect you to be that brave. But we were never here. I just ask that the next time you’re asked to do something really fucking slimy and illegal, you remember this. Okay?”

  “What about Turnbull?” Prescott wheezed. “He’s gonna be pissed.”

  “And he’ll do what? Tell everyone you fucked up your deal? Sue you for squealing? I doubt it. He’s not quite as stupid as you.” Jayce let his chin go and the man nearly face planted in his own filth.

  Fritter wasn’t appeased. Not at all. He wanted the guy beaten, bleeding, and in the hospital for this. But that would have to mean jail, and no one had time for that.

  “We should go,” Tank spoke for the first time. “Spaz, you done?”

  “Oh yeah,” the kid answered, too pleased with himself, circling the desk. “It’s properly apologetic and self-deprecating.”

  “Perfect. Let’s get out of here.”

  Fritter watched Tiny grind his cigarette out in Prescott’s carpet, then before following his brother out Fritter stepped cruelly on Prescott’s hand, crouching down. He ignored the squealing. “You stay the fuck away from her. Even if you see her at an accident scene and want a picture. You come within a hundred yards of her again I’m coming back here with a fucking weapon and I won’t be this polite.”

  “I’m not a fucking peeping Tom!”

  “How do I know that? Videotaping people that don’t know you’re there? That’s scuzzy shit, man. I’m assuming right now you’re a sexual predator, fucker. One wrong move and you’ll find out how little I like perverts.”

  “I’m not—” he never finished because Fritter kicked him in his stupid, fat face. Prescott collapsed into his own vomit, and Tiny was pulling him out of the office by both shoulders.

  “Okay, Fritter. You made your point.”

  He pulled away roughly, rolling his shoulders to reset his kutte and strode through the lobby. On the sidewalk Jayce was lighting up a smoke and squinting at Fritter.

  “All right,” the Prez said, exhaling. “I’ve decided not to fucking tan your hide for this. We still get to take a shot at you each, just for betraying trust by not telling anyone.”

  “I never talked, never ratted us out to her!” Fritter spat out, heart still pounding from the beat down.

  “I know. That’s why I’m not pulling that kutte from your back. And what’s more, I can see she ain’t just a piece of ass.”

  Fritter made a scoffing noise.

  “You can pretend,” Tiny said quietly. “You were protecting her in there, too. That was for the club, sure. But also for her.”

  “And she ain’t a piece of ass woman,” Tank added on, swinging a long leg over his Fat Boy. “Don’t pretend she’s somewhere between a booty call and a sweetbutt. We all know Sharon. That’s a woman you look after.”

  His jaw set again. Fuck, he couldn’t sort out his own head now.

  “We should go see if she’s all right.”

  Fritter spun on Buck. “Are you nuts?”

  “Fritter, she must have heard by now. Imagine what she’s going through, man.” Jayce squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll just go by, check with her. Tell her what we know. Maybe she’ll press charges.”

  He knew Jayce was right, and as the words sank in he realized that’s what he should have been worried about. Not his place in the fucking club. He should be out of his mind with worry for her.

  Shit, he really sucked at this relationship shit. If that’s what this even was.

  “Okay,” he agreed eventually, grabbing his lid from his handlebars. “Fuck. I’m terrified to see her now.”

  “She’s going to be embarrassed,” Buck guessed. “But not showing that you’re worried would be a real prick move.”

  Fritter swung onto his ride. “I just hope she doesn’t shoot me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Mom, you almost ready?”

  She had to smile down at her suitcase while she tallied up what she’d been able to grab so far. Brayden was being so kind.

  Seriously, such a great kid.

  “I think I’m done,” she called back, flipping the suitcase closed and zipping it up tight. “You got your stuff in the car?”

  “Yep!”

  “And Earp’s stuff?”

  “Yep!”

  When she heard it, her stomach dropped. Straight pipes, growing louder, coming closer to her house. She froze, waiting for them to drive right on by, but they didn’t. At their loudest they suddenly stopped and she had her first ever moment of doubt about her own safety when it came to the Red Rebels.

  Would they hurt her? Would Fritter let them?

  Was Fritter still around?

  Beyond her own worries, she came to the realization that he could be in as much trouble as she was. This was why she’d picked him; he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell anyone about this. Just like her. What if they’d decided the betrayal was too great?

  “Mom?”<
br />
  She jumped and turned to Brayden, in her doorway. He looked worried, too. “Yeah, Bray?”

  “The Rebels are here. Some of them. I only know Jayce and Buck.”

  Shit. Jayce was here, too? “What about Fritter?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s here, too. They’re coming up to the house. Are … are you going to be okay? Are we in trouble with them?”

  If she was a good parent she’d know how to answer that, reassuring him while being honest. She had no fucking idea how to do that so what she said was, “I don’t know.”

  He swallowed and nodded.

  “Just wait in your room. I’ll answer the door. Okay, Bray?”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  She waited until he left her sight before reaching for her nightstand and pulling the drawer open. She’d tossed her revolver in there when she got home, and now she made sure she loaded it before tucking it into the back of her jeans. With an impatient tug she made sure her T-shirt fell over the grip then headed for the front door. Heavy footsteps could be heard on the front stoop before the storm door was opened and a hard knock shook the interior door.

  With an inhaled and held breath Sharon pulled the door open. What kind of expression could one really pull out in this situation? Play dumb? Look surprised? Invite them in for a cup of coffee?

  The first one she saw was Jayce. He was holding the storm door outward, and Fritter was right next to him, mostly blocking the doorway. She had no barriers between her and them. She tried to stay calm, but at the sight of them, tall and hairy and in all that leather, she was reminded of what they were.

  “Sharon,” Jayce greeted her, his voice gentle. But she didn’t trust it.

  “Jayce,” she replied, then nodded. “Fritter.” Her voice almost broke on his name. She had the ridiculous urge to burst into tears, just to see if he’d hold her.

  “Fuck, Sharon,” he croaked out, his regret evident on his face. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  That took her back a pace. She blinked, mouth working to form a response, when Jayce cut in “Are you okay? What can we do?”

  None of this was expected. “Do?” she echoed, stupidly.

  “The Markham Marker just published an apology on their Facebook page for infringing on your privacy,” Jayce went on. “Dylan Prescott basically confessed he shot the video and posted it to keep Archie Turnbull’s advertising money. It’s a pretty safe bet Turnbull did this to hurt you, not us. So we want to know; do you want any help from us?”

  Sharon did a few most fast blinks, eyes finding Fritter’s. “Can I beat the shit out of Prescott?”

  There was a rumble of laughter, one of the voices she recognized as Tiny’s though she couldn’t see him. “I did that,” Fritter replied, still sounding off. His humor wasn’t there, he wasn’t trying to make light of this. For some reason that made her feel better.

  “You did what?”

  “We paid Prescott a visit. And I beat his lunch right out of him.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered, an odd warmth washing over her. That shouldn’t be a good thing, she shouldn’t see it as sweet. But it was probably the best gift he could have given her.

  “He won’t talk,” Jayce assured her. “We’ll pay Turnbull a visit eventually, but we wanted to see if you were okay.”

  Again, an odd sense of warmth and comfort.

  “Can I come in?” Fritter asked. Jayce shot him a look but stepped back, not waiting for her to answer. She moved to the side and Fritter moved into the foyer. The guys stayed outside, looking to the street. Like they were guarding her house.

  “Fritter, I don’t think it’s good you guys are here,” she began, carefully.

  “You packing up and taking off?” he asked, ignoring her statement and turning to face her. When she didn’t answer he went on. “Saw your car. The back is full of shit. Even the dog bed. You’re leaving town.”

  She looked down at her hands. “Fritter, think about how this will be for me. How can I stay here? Look anyone in the face, always scared they’re just thinking about that video and nothing else? I can’t be Sherriff. I can’t be a respectable member of the community. No matter what, I’ll just be seen as some biker’s bitch.”

  His head came up, eyes flashing. “So what? What do you care what people think?”

  “I’m not that person, Fritter. I’m not made to just be someone’s … slam.”

  “You’re not. And there are plenty of other things you can likely do instead.”

  “I agree. Just … not in Markham.” She felt real sadness as she said it, knowing that she truly meant that now. Her wheels weren’t just spinning. She was planning a permanent move.

  “You’re leaving for good?” The flash of anger faded as quickly as it came, replaced with something that looked a lot like hurt. She bit back the reaction she had to him possibly missing her. Jesus, how did they get here?

  “I think I have to. I’d rather stay but … I can only imagine people when I go out. Comments, stares, whispers. I can’t do it.”

  “You shouldn’t care.”

  “Easy for you to stay,” she snapped, arms crossing. “You’re getting high-fives and I’m getting gang rape threats.”

  The temperature in her entryway dropped about ten degrees. “You’re what?” She’d never heard him truly pissed off. For just a moment she marveled at what an awesome sight it was; he went from boyishly handsome to dangerously scary. His voice was even different.

  She answered anyway. “Gang rape threats. Online. When that video was posted. They’re putting my street address out there while fucking joking about it. I didn’t see them but Brayden saw them. Yeah, by the way, my son saw that video. So I’m pretty sure my Mother Of The Year aspirations are dead in the water.”

  “He have the names?”

  “What? What names?”

  “The people who commented. He have their names?”

  She shook her head, reading the fury on his face and knowing his intentions. “No. You’re not beating up a bunch of spineless idiots who have huge swinging dicks on the fucking internet.”

  “Yeah, actually. I am. He got their names?”

  “Here.”

  They both turned as Brayden joined them, coming down the hall with his phone held out. “This is a screen capture of the comment section the video had on the campaign page when I took it down.”

  “Brayden!” she chastised while trying to intercept. Fritter put one hand to her stomach and pushed her back while taking her son’s phone.

  “There’s more than one shot,” her son went on. “Swipe to the left to see them all.”

  Fritter was doing it, and as he did she watched his face cloud over like the sky on a hot humid day, threatening violence as surely as thunder and lightning. “You gotta be shitting me,” he muttered. “People actually put this shit out there like that?”

  “Only when they’re real assholes.”

  Sharon crossed her arms. She didn’t want to see the comments, and as Fritter read them she knew she really didn’t want to see. And somehow, Fritter reading them and getting indignant made her feel better. Again, he didn’t think any of this was funny. He took it seriously.

  “Okay, so it’s really about ten names, trading bullshit back and forth. And most of these names I recognize.” He turned to the door and shouted “Spaz!”

  The youngest Red Rebel came through the door, eyebrows up, ready to be of assistance. Sharon wondered if he even shaved yet. “Yeah?”

  “I got a list of names here, people in Markham who commented on the video on that Facebook page. It’s been taken down. Can you still find it?”

  “For sure. I can find it wherever it’s being watched.”

  “Can I possibly beat up everyone spreading this shit around?”

  Spaz smiled. “You’ll be busy, but when we left it was mostly centered on Markham.”

  “I guess not everyone,” Fritter amended while handing Brayden his phone back. “Just the really fucking disgusting shit. Oh yeah, and th
at prick that posted it in the first place. That’s Turnbull’s son, right?”

  Brayden’s smile was wicked. “Yeah, it was.”

  “You mind if I pay him a visit?”

  Brayden shook his head, but all he said was “Awesome.”

  “You’re not beating up Turnbull’s son.” She felt it necessary to interject, even though they were ignoring her.

  “Okay. I’ll just scare him.”

  “Fritter!”

  His smile was slow, and it made her knees a little bit weak despite the nightmare she’d met with that morning.

  “Sharon, they videotaped a Red Rebel in his kutte and put it on the internet. It included a great shot of my fuckin’ cock besides. That’s stupid enough. Bringin’ you into it, too? Usin’ it to cost you your career?” He shook his head, voice getting soft again. “That ain’t okay, baby.”

  Her stomach went gushy when he called her baby. He never called her that, did he? Babe, maybe. But baby was definitely new.

  “Can’t take it back, but I can make them sorry.”

  The crying impulse was so weird. One slip up where a guy starts to get to her and she becomes an insipid, weepy twit. However, she resisted the urge to throw herself into his arms.

  Before she could respond to his offer to extract violent revenge he was talking again. “Where are you guys going?”

  She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. “My parents have a house in Templeton. I just told them we’re coming to visit for the weekend.”

  “You’re coming back, right?”

  Behind her she was aware that Brayden was backing away, and she heard his door shut before she answered. “Eventually. But ... I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay in Markham.”

  Now his look of concern vanished, replaced with shock. “What?”

  She tilted her head, finding it irrationally cute that he was somehow surprised by that. “Fritter ... think about my situation. Women never come out of this okay.” She made a show of checking her watch. “I need to get moving. I want to be on the road within a half hour.”

  “Please come back, Sharon.” He caught her elbow, and once again she found herself getting emotional. “Please.”