Fred remained silent, staring down at the table until he had to grip his head with both hands, gritting his teeth. His eyes bulged. Tears ran down his face. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound emerged.
Ice signaled for Alena to take Pierce and leave. Alena stood up and reached for Pierce’s hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, but he stayed stubbornly watching. She wrapped herself around him as only Alena could. When he still didn’t respond, she shrugged, turned, and left the table, moving through the bar with complete confidence, her hips swaying. She didn’t look back once.
Pierce glanced after her and then back to the table, clearly fascinated by Fred’s odd suffering. There was no way to connect him grabbing his head to anything the Torpedo Ink members were doing. Storm sat passively. Absinthe was looking at the Venomous club member, but as far as Pierce could tell, he wasn’t doing anything to him. Ice sat closer than any of the others, but he wasn’t touching the man that Pierce could see. He swore, once more looking after Alena.
Ice wanted to smile, knowing his dilemma. His sister would be lost in the sea of bikers. So many clubs. So many parties. So many men. She was beautiful and mysterious and elusive. In the end, Pierce turned and went after her.
Ice removed the threat of the knife and put it back inside his jacket, out of sight. Blood was dripping from Fred’s ears and trickling from both eyes. His head went down on the table and his body began to seize. Storm stood up and walked casually to the bar as his twin and Absinthe worked their way toward the door.
“Just wanted you to know, that man over there looks like he’s having some kind of seizure. I’m not a medic, but it doesn’t look good.” Storm patted the bar once and turned his back, threading his way through the crowd to the door where the others waited.
The bartender glanced over at Fred, who was slumped over the table. He could barely make him out. Several voices rang out demanding drinks, and he shrugged and went back to work.
* * *
“Are you happy with Ice?” Lana asked.
Soleil glanced up from the long rows of chicken on the grill and met Lana’s eyes. “Very happy, Lana. Thanks to you, I’m still alive and happier than I’d ever thought possible. I never had a home or a family. Torpedo Ink has been amazing, the way they’ve taken me in.”
She turned back to eye the chicken. She’d never actually grilled anything before. She waved the long tongs toward the chicken. “Have you ever done this?”
Lana stepped back, throwing both her hands into the air. “No way. Alena can do this with no problem. She’d make it all perfection. Me, I’m the queen of burning things.”
“You ladies need help?”
Both spun around. Soleil recognized the stranger, the man who had watched her earlier in the evening having sex. She struggled to keep the color from rising under her skin. She refused to be embarrassed, but her skin crawled. She’d liked him watching when she’d felt safe with Ice with her, but now she felt a little dirty, and not in a good way. He had participated by watching, by getting off on it. His gaze seemed to burn into her, making her feel more uncomfortable than ever.
“We’re fine,” Lana said, flashing him a smile. “Just making some food for our club.” She shifted slightly, gliding to put her body between Soleil and the newcomer as if she sensed he had come for more than helping them.
“Name’s Stallion,” he said, grinning, gripping the front of his jeans suggestively. “Bet you can’t imagine why.”
“Bet I can,” Lana said, glanced at Soleil and rolled her eyes.
Soleil hid her smile by staring down at the chicken. So far nothing looked as if it was burning. She just hoped Alena would come, or one of the men.
“You haven’t told me your names,” Stallion pushed.
“I think that was on purpose,” Lana said.
The smile faded from his face. “Don’t be a bitch. You don’t want to get your club in trouble. Mine has a certain reputation, and no one’s heard of yours.”
Lana burst out laughing. “Are you honestly threatening the club because I didn’t tell you my name?”
He took a step toward her, his face going red with anger. Soleil held up the tongs threateningly. Lana just remained looking cool, the way she always did, although her eyes had gone cold and watchful.
“I’m going to give you one warning, Stallion. If you lay one hand on me, I’m going to hurt you like you’ve never been hurt. They won’t call you Stallion anymore because you’re never going to be making babies.” She spoke very low, but her voice carried absolute truth.
“Everything all right here, Lana?” Ink asked, as he emerged from the shadows. He was a big man and covered in a multitude of tattoos. He spoke softly, like most of the Torpedo Ink members did.
Preacher, Lana’s older birth brother, came up on the other side of her, both men blocking Stallion’s view of Soleil. “Hey, sis, sorry we’re late. Got caught up in the wet T-shirt contest.”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. You can’t tell fake from the real thing.” Her gaze went past him to lock onto Ink. “Neither of you can.”
“Is that where Ice went?” Soleil asked. It took an effort to keep her voice very casual. She was used to pretending everything was okay. She’d been doing that most of her life.
She hadn’t thought of all the parties going on everywhere all around them. She knew there was anything he might want to do right there for him, and he was very, very sexual. Women fawned all over him. She’d been with him only a month, but in that time, she’d noticed that everywhere they went, women looked at him, flirted and tried to entice him. How had she ever thought someone like Ice would be satisfied by a woman like her?
She turned her back on the others, fussing over the chicken. Ink reached around her to take the tongs out of her hand. “Babe. Really?”
He ignored Stallion’s posturing. The man could bluster until the cows came home, but he wasn’t going to fight them. Eventually, with no one paying him any attention, Stallion slunk back to his campsite, stomped over to one of the women, caught her wrist and yanked her with him as he stalked away.
“I don’t know what that means.” Soleil raised an eyebrow toward Lana. “Does ‘Babe. Really,’ actually mean something?”
Lana shook her head. “No, but they pretend every time they say it that it means something defining. It really means they have no vocabulary. Don’t pay any attention to them. The minute you do, you’re encouraging their bad behavior.”
“Talk about bad behavior,” Preacher said. “I saw that little smile you gave good old Stallion. You were egging that poor boy on. You wanted to kick his balls up to his throat.”