He needed something to occupy his mind, something that didn't have to do with whether he would spend the rest of his life in a cage. Because when he turned his mind from that, all that was left was Faith.

He hadn't seen or heard from her in years, but a whole chunk of his mind was devoted to his memories and feelings of her. He jacked off, feeling abysmally guilty, to his few memories of being inside her. The longer he was away from anything remotely like a life, the bigger the 'Faith' part of his head became. It wouldn't be long before he was consumed by her. Then, he knew he'd go mad, locked away and eaten alive by memory.

Muse and Tug were waiting outside the out-processing center. Tug had a van, with an empty trailer hooked up. Muse was sitting astride his Knuckle. Next to him was Demon's chopper, his kutte lying across the saddle.

They'd cut it f.u.c.king close. Almost seven months inside. Demon had given his lawyer the go-ahead to prepare a guilty plea and stave off a trial, when the witness had disappeared and the case had fallen apart.

Grinning, Muse dismounted and grabbed Demon's kutte, then came forward, with a slight hitch yet in his gait. They embraced, and Muse held out the kutte for Demon to slide on.

"You want to go back with Tug, grab some p.u.s.s.y?"

Demon didn't answer. Alabama club p.u.s.s.y wasn't his thing, no matter how long he'd gone without. He wasn't dragged through life by his d.i.c.k like some of his brothers were.

"Or there's a job in South Dakota."

That was more like it. He grinned. "Good one?"

"Good bank. A little exercise."

'Exercise' was what they called it when there was somebody to hurt. He nodded. "Let's ride."

He was free. And as long as the kutte was on his back, and Muse was at his side, he was home.

Close enough, anyway.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"Faith. It's Hoosier, darlin'."

Faith unlocked the door. She was already dressed; she'd gotten up the second Michael had left the room, and she'd been pacing, straining her ears to try to make sense of the sounds she was hearing. It had been gunfire that had woken them up. Even if she hadn't known it right away, Michael's quick response would have made her sure of it.

Hoosier opened the door before she could, and he caught her up in a tight hug. She grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt and held on. "Where's Michael?"

"Shhh. No questions. We got company. You were sleepin' alone back here, right? Don't know anything. You remember the play?"

She had a million questions, but she also knew what he was saying. Law was here. Michael was not. Which most likely meant he was off responding to whatever had been done here. The thought made her sick with worry, but she nodded. "Right."

"Okay. C'mon. Hold tight, darlin'. It's gonna be okay."

It was lucky that shock and horror were the appropriate responses to the scene in the Hall, because Faith was racked with both before her eyes and brain had even made complete sense of it all. The smell hit her first-the acrid, lingering tang of gunfire and the copper of blood, and the heavy, woodsy-sweet aroma of liquor. That smell, she made visual sense of first-the shelves behind the bar had been destroyed, and mingled liquor was still pooled on the floor, oozing from behind the bar.

The gunfire and blood made sense next. Black-bagged bodies were being carried out on stretchers. Faith counted four bags, but there could have been more. Four dead, and more injured. The Hall was full of EMTs, and Faith saw Michael's friend, Muse, being rolled out, his old lady following with him, trying to keep hold of his hand. Faith couldn't remember her name.

She was struck, in the midst of this chaos, by the renewed realization that this was not her club. Most of the people she'd known were gone. Looking around the room, she couldn't even be sure who was a member and who was a civilian.

A female deputy came up and began asking questions. Faith answered-her name, her address. She started to give her Venice Beach address, then caught herself and gave her mother's instead, feeling a sharp pang of loss and nostalgia for her old life. The questions were brief; she said that she had been sleeping, saw nothing, knew nothing, knew of no enemies. All of that was actually true. The only lie she told was that she had been sleeping alone.

Handed a card and freed from the deputy, Faith went looking for Bibi. If Hoosier was still here, then Bibi probably was, too. Tucker was at Bart and Riley's.

And that was another weird thing about this club. Their VP lived in a mansion and was married to Riley Chase. Another was married to a model-she'd been at the party earlier, and Faith had recognized her. That was crazy. The club she'd grown up in had had several celebrity clients at the bike shop, but they had not been hobn.o.bbing with the rich and famous themselves.

Bibi was in the kitchen-not doing anything, just leaning against the counter, staring at the floor. When she saw Faith, she came forward, her arms out, and Faith tucked herself in for a hug.

"You okay, baby?"

"Yeah. Worried."

"I know. We just have to wait. They won't let me even make a f.u.c.kin' pot of coffee. The whole clubhouse is a crime scene."

"Did anyplace else get hit?"

"Hush, Faith. Not the time or place for questions."

"But Tucker?"

Bibi leaned back and brushed Faith's hair from her face. "He's okay. We're heading to Bart and Riley's as soon as they let us out of here. Until then, we stay out of the way and wait."

Bart and Riley lived in a big house deep in the foothills on the mountain edge of Madrone. Its architecture was traditional California Spanish-earthy stucco, red tile, arched doors and windows, heavy, rustic woodwork. The interior was wide and airy, with lots of two-story rooms and windows everywhere.

The decor was casual and accessible, not the chichi Architectural Digest ensembles Faith had been expecting. Most of the flooring was tile, but there were funky area rugs scattered throughout, and all the furniture and decorative objects were normal and kid friendly. And there were toys everywhere. Bart and Riley's daughter, Lexi, was five, and their son, Ian, was three. With two-year-old Tucker, they were the only small children in the club. But their presence was huge in this house on this night, even while they slept. Just being surrounded by the evidence of their play lightened the somber mood as the survivors of the attack on the clubhouse settled in to wait for the rest of the club.

J.R. and his wife, Veda, were there, too. The whole club was being pulled in for something like a lockdown here in this mansion.

Bart led the patches who were present into his study. Finally free to use a kitchen, Bibi gathered up the old ladies and moved in on Riley's expansive s.p.a.ce. Riley herself sat down at her breakfast table, resting her hands on her huge belly. She really did look like she should have popped already.

Feeling the awkward unreality of walking up to a celebrity to have a little chat, Faith went over to Riley. "Can I get you anything?" That was weird, too-asking the woman of the house if she could get her anything from her own kitchen.

But Riley just smiled. "No, thanks. But help yourself."

Faith sat down. "I'm not really in the mood for food or drink."

"I hear you." She rubbed her hands over her belly.

"When are you due?"

"Just a couple of weeks. I'm so ready to see my feet again."

Riley and Bart's pending new addition wasn't something Faith really wanted to talk about. It stirred up memories and worries.

After an awkward moment, Riley asked, "How's your mom? Did they send somebody after her?"

Faith hadn't even thought about her mother. She was the only one who wasn't being pulled in. Feeling guilty, she considered whether she should ask Hoosier to send someone for her. But Margot was with Jose. And she didn't want her anywhere near where Michael might be, especially not if she might be feeling stress. "No, I think she's okay. It would really freak her out to move her in the middle of the night, and the nurse who's with her is a huge guy. She's better staying put."

Riley nodded. "It's awful, what's happening to her. It makes me so sad."

There was nothing really to say about that, so Faith didn't. She watched Bibi and Veda and a couple of club girls she didn't know making breakfast. Dawn was breaking, she noticed, the view of the mountains from the two-story windows on the other side of the table brightening with morning sun.

This, she remembered. The way life just went on, even at a time like this. Morning happened. People ate. They chatted about life and family. They didn't sit and stare at the door. They would mourn those who'd been lost, but they would do it in the background, and in ritual, together. Loss was a part of life, loss like this was a part of this life, and life went on.

At her side, Riley said, "I hope this isn't a strange thing to say, but I really love your mom." Faith turned and c.o.c.ked her head. Yes, that had been a strange thing to say.

Blushing, Riley continued. "She took me under her wing, I guess, when I came into the family. She helped me understand how this world works, and she answered a lot of questions I had. Like a mentor. Or a mom, a little." She smiled. "I feel like I knew you before I met you. She talks about you and your sister a lot." The smile faded. "Or she used to."

Faith laughed, because that was funny. "I find that hard to believe. You know Margot and I went years-"

"I know," Riley interrupted. "I never asked about that, and she never said. And it's not my business. But I know she missed you, for whatever that's worth. She's been pretty unhappy for a long time. I guess a lot of it was this-what's happening to her now. But I think it was more than that, too. Anyway, I hope that wasn't me speaking out of turn. Being pregnant makes me need to mother everybody. According to Bart, it's annoying as h.e.l.l."

Faith agreed with Bart. But she couldn't be snappish with this pretty little pregnant movie star, who was trying to be nice. So she put on a smile. "Well, thanks. I'm glad she helped you. She definitely knows how it works around here." Or she did, when her brain worked. Faith stood up. "I'm gonna see if Bibi needs help. You sure you don't want anything?"

"No. I'm good." Riley's expression suggested that she knew she'd crossed a line and felt sorry for it, but also knew that apologizing would only continue the awkwardness further. Faith smiled, wanting to let her off the hook. It was a queer feeling to know that other people had gotten different, better versions of her mother than she had, but it wasn't Riley's fault that was true.

Breakfast wasn't yet ready when the thunder of Harleys rattled the windows, and almost everybody in the house converged toward the side door. The warriors were home. Faith went over and helped Riley stand and then pushed her way to the door. Connor was out ahead; he gave her a small, sardonic smirk and then made a sweep of his hand as if he were presenting Michael to her.

She ran up and jumped onto him before he had his helmet off. He caught her and held her tightly. "I'm okay, babe. I'm good. I'm good."

Speechless, she could only nod against his neck and hold on. He moved a hand to her face, pushing her back slightly so he could kiss her.

"There's food in the kitchen," Bart said behind them. "Load up plates, then Hooj wants us in the Ke-in my study. We need a debrief."

Faith heard, and she knew Michael did, too, because he'd tensed a bit when Bart started speaking. But he didn't stop kissing her, so she stayed where she was, her legs and arms wrapped around him, their mouths linked and their tongues twining together.

Connor cleared his throat theatrically. "Okay, Skinemax. Inside."

At that, Michael put his hands under her arms and set her down. He took his helmet off and set it on his bike.

"Hold that thought. I gotta do this."

"I know. I'll be waiting."

He took her hand, and they went back inside.

Strange, but this felt normal. It felt right. This was her club. Faith felt like Michael's old lady, like he was really hers, more in that moment, at Bart's house because the clubhouse had been shot up, welcoming Michael home from probably killing people, than she yet had. People had died, and yet she felt secure and...and safe.

She felt like she was home.

By the time the men filed out of Bart's study, the children were awake and had been fed. Riley and Faith sat in the living room while they played noisily in the corner, which was set up like a little house, with an elaborate kitchen set and other furniture. Their fancy playroom wasn't enough, apparently.

But Faith was enjoying watching them play, and she figured that might be part of it. In a playroom, they'd be away. Here, they were in the middle of everything. The room was bright with sunshine and the happy chatter of children, and it felt good. Even during a lockdown.

Lexi, a beautiful little girl with long, pale curls, was bossing Ian and Tucker around, but they seemed perfectly content to be bossed. Faith watched Tucker stirring 'porridge' with a little wooden spoon in a little silver pot on the wooden stove while Ian set the table with plastic princess plates and teacups. So sweet, so normal. So much was normal about this strange life. There were ways in which her life alone was beginning to feel like a dream she'd had. Or like a part she'd been playing.

She had to find a time, and a way, to tell Michael the one secret that remained between them. She had to move it out of their way, nullify the last thing Margot could do to hurt them, so that they could be together and make a new life, a real life. The truth would hurt him. Bibi thought he wouldn't be able to handle it, and Faith thought she might well be right. But it was there, and it was in their way, and it had to be her who told him. If he came upon Margot when she thought it was ten years ago-that would be the absolutely most painful way to learn it, with extra layers of betrayal.

But she was afraid. He'd been hurt so very much in his life. To be the one to hurt him more? G.o.d.

Michael walked in and stood watching his son, a gentle, quiet smile on his face. He seemed more relaxed than Faith could ever remember him being. He turned to her, and his smile grew. He was-he was happy. On a morning after a night like that, even with the loss and danger, Michael was, just now, experiencing a moment of peace. Faith wanted to freeze time and let him have it forever.

Tucker saw his father and abandoned his work with the porridge. "Pa!" He trotted over, and Michael picked him up and hugged him hard.

"Love you, Motor Man. You having fun?"

Tucker nodded seriously. "Cookin' an'...an'..." Tucker swiveled his head to the corner, his forehead drawn in concentration. "Hep Lexi."

That was the longest string of words, clear words, Faith had yet heard Tucker say, and that was apparently the case for all the adults who heard him. Michael's eyes, and Riley's, too, went wide and pleased. "That's great, helping Lexi. Ian, too?"

Tucker nodded in answer to his father's question. "Uh-huh. Cookin' food."

Michael looked over Tucker's head at Faith. His eyes shone. He kissed his son. "Okay, you better get back to it. I'm going upstairs for a little bit with Faith, okay?"

He said it in the softer voice he used with Tucker, but he looked at Riley, who smiled and nodded. Michael set Tucker down, and the boy went back to his work.

"The porridge is going to burn, Tuck. You have to stir it all the time," Lexi admonished, a dainty little Gordon Ramsay. Tucker nodded and resumed stirring.

Faith stood and went to Michael. He wrapped his large hand, the skin warm and rough, around hers and led her upstairs. At the top of the staircase was a loft area that was set up like another family room, with another wall of electronics. Either Bart or Riley was really into cutting-edge tech-probably Bart. Michael led her through that area and down a hallway, like he knew exactly where he was going. And of course he would. Bart was his brother, the club VP. He'd probably been here countless times.

He led her through a door, into a small (by the standards of all the other rooms here she'd seen) bedroom. Then he closed the door and pushed her against it, leaning into her right away and covering her mouth with his.

It took her breath away-not the force or pressure, as such, but the control. Michael had always been...well, hesitant at the beginning of their s.e.x, always fighting himself, always trying to give her room to back away. That normally changed when they were deep into it, but it changed because he lost the fight.

Last night, he'd grabbed her hair and tugged her back to him, and it was the most controlling he'd ever been with her. She wasn't someone who wanted to be dominated-at all-but she had found that strong move incredibly hot.

Being shoved against the door and kissed like this, like he hadn't expected ever to be able to kiss her again? That was hotter. The way he started tearing at her clothes, trying to get at her as quickly as he could? Hotter still.

This was a different Michael. Somewhere along the road he'd ridden last night, he'd cast off a heavy weight. Despite the dark of last night, he was lighter, like the work he'd been sent to do had given him something he needed.

And that was what it was. Last night had opened a valve for the thing inside him he called a beast.

Faith reached between them, too, tangling with his hands, trying to get to his clothes as he was getting to hers. He released her lips with a grunt and buried his face against her neck, still struggling with her jeans and tights. She had his jeans open, his belt undone, the buckle jingling loosely, but he had her clothes bunched up on her thighs, stuck.

She bucked, forcing him to take a step backward, and turned around to face the door. When she wiggled her jeans and tights down a little farther, she bent forward and looked over her shoulder.

He stared. Hesitation was back. And now, knowing his past so much more deeply, she understood it so much better.

"Michael."