Tracker's End Read online

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, smiling. “Tracker was with you. We went and got some food, then came back here and slept. End of story.”

  “Where is it then?” she asks, trying to tame her blond hair, which is sticking up in every direction.

  “Where is what?”

  “The food. Did you get me any food?” she asks, looking hopeful.

  “Ummmm. I did. But Rake ate it,” I tell her, cringing.

  “That bastard!” she growls, her eyes narrowed.

  I start giggling and she soon joins in. “When does Arrow get back?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow,” she says, opening the fridge and rummaging through the contents. “He, Sin, Trace, Irish, Ronan, and Vinnie are gone.”

  I lean up against the countertop, tying my own hair up and away from my face. “Do you know where he goes?”

  “Nope,” she replies popping the P. “Well, I know where. I just don’t know why.”

  “And you’re okay with that?” I ask carefully.

  She closes the fridge and studies me. “Why? You considering getting with one of the men? A certain member with a huge pierced cock?”

  My eyes flare. “Lower your voice, Anna!”

  She grins cheekily. “Why? Don’t want lover boy to hear us discussing his—”

  “Deliciously hung penis?” Tracker suggests, walking into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes. “Christ, Anna. You yelling the word cock at nine in the morning isn’t how I want to wake up.”

  Anna laughs. “Bet if it was Lana saying it . . .”

  “Whole different story,” he says casually, then turns to me. “You slept like a fuckin’ baby last night. Admit it.”

  With two sets of eyes on me, one curious one knowing, I shrug and clear my throat. “I slept okay.”

  “Ha,” he barks. “You slept like the dead. You can play it off, but I know the truth,” he says playfully. “Now, to finish off the best date in the world, I’m going to make you breakfast.”

  “You can’t cook!” Anna balks, looking at Tracker like he’s grown an extra head.

  “Says who?” Tracker asks, head now in the fridge.

  “Me.”

  “And who are you? The fuckin’ cooking police?”

  “I could be.” Anna sniffs, giving me a wink. She gives me a curious look; she’s going to want answers. But what do I say? I don’t even know what’s going on between us. I’d been so sure I didn’t want to get into anything with Tracker, but he is proving impossible to resist.

  Persistent bastard.

  With cheese and eggs in his hands, Tracker commands us both to sit.

  “Do you like omelets, Lana?” he asks me in a much gentler tone than the one he used with Anna.

  I nod.

  “Good,” he replies, grabbing a pan and getting to work.

  “Are you cooking for me too?” Anna asks, peering into the pan with avid interest.

  He sighs exaggeratedly. “Fine. But you’re really ruining our breakfast date.”

  I know Tracker has a playful side to him. It draws people to him, because he’s so easy to be around. He’s fun. However, he also has the roughness necessary to be a part of the MC. I haven’t seen that side yet, and I’m not sure I want to. What if I can’t accept his lifestyle? Is that what I want?

  My emotions are all over the place. Thank God no one else lives in my head, they wouldn’t be able to keep track of all my thoughts. I overanalyze everything and second-guess myself a lot. I also tend to replay conversations trying to find hidden meanings in other people’s words.

  I’m not as adventurous as Anna. I live through books rather than reality. I don’t know how I’d deal with being kidnapped like she was last year, or if men broke into the clubhouse when I was here. Sounds crazy, but these things have actually happened. This is their reality. I can say no to Tracker all I want, but he knows.

  He knows.

  One look at me, and he knows.

  I do want him.

  I have since I first laid eyes on him.

  He’s made his move, showed me his cards.

  He wants me. For how long, I don’t know. I’m not the kind to take risks. But maybe for once I should live a little, take a chance.

  If I did, I could get hurt.

  Burned.

  Ruined.

  Or . . . I could find what Anna and Faye have.

  The gamble seems too large, but the feelings are too strong to deny.

  As I watch Tracker try and make an omelet, I wonder what it is he sees in me. Not that I don’t think I’m pretty, or anything like that. Just that, I’m not like the other women here.

  “You’re not wearing your glasses,” Tracker says, cutting into my thoughts.

  “I left them next to your bed.”

  He leans forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. “Your eyes are sexy. Big, brown, and soulful. Doe eyes. But you look cute with your glasses on too. Like a naughty librarian.”

  “I’m still here,” Anna says in a dry tone.

  “Ignore her,” Tracker whispers. “Maybe she will go away.”

  Anna slaps him on his shoulder, then grabs the ladle to flip the omelet.

  “Are weekend mornings always like this here?” I ask, my tone filled with humor.

  “No,” Tracker says, kissing my cheek and then looking behind me. “It’s usually like that.”

  I turn to look at where he is pointing. Rake is walking into the kitchen, each arm around a woman. Both are average height and would be attractive if they were cleaned up. As it is, their hair is messy and the dresses they wore, presumably from last night, were trashy and crumpled. “ ’Mornin’,” he rumbles. “Fuck yeah, breakfast.”

  Anna narrows her eyes. “Get one of your groupies to cook for you, you burger-stealing fiend.”

  Rake looks to me.

  I throw up my hands. “She asked where it was. What was I supposed to do, lie?”

  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do,” Rake tells me with a smirk, removing his arms from the women and going to hug his sister. “Don’t worry, Anna, I’ll buy you sushi.”

  I roll my eyes, then look at Tracker, who is watching me with a curious look on his face. “Hope you don’t have any plans today.”

  I have a book to finish, but I guess I can catch up on that tonight.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I’m finally gonna get you on the back of my bike.”

  “Hmm, that depends,” I challenge.

  “On what?” he asks, a determined look taking over his expression.

  “On how good your breakfast is.”

  He laughs.

  “And what do I do with my car?”

  “I’ll get one of the prospects to drop it off later,” he says.

  I nod.

  The omelet was crap.

  But I let him take me for a ride anyway.

  * * *

  Arms wrapped around Tracker, his back pressed against my front, I have one thought on my mind.

  I could get used to this.

  Being on his bike is exhilarating.

  Sharing this with him is amazing, like he’s giving me a part of him. Not only is this my first ride ever, but it’s my first with Tracker, and I can tell how much he loves to ride. How proud he feels. He loves his life in the MC.

  Yes, I was scared shitless at first, but after the first fifteen minutes I calmed down and started to enjoy it. Clinging to Tracker for dear life, my fingers pressing into his ripped abs, I was sitting a little stiffly but still appreciated the feeling of being on a motorcycle.

  Or is it just the feeling of being on his motorcycle?

  I’d taken a shower and borrowed some of Anna’s clothes—jeans that were a little loose on me and a black Harley T-shirt. Because I can’t exactly wear house slippers on the bike, I’m also wearing her boots. I don’t really look like me right now, but I feel like me.

  I feel free.

  The wind on my face, my arms around Tracker’s body, and the speed. Every time
we come to a stop he rubs my thigh. His earthy scent fills my nose. It feels right. Blocking everything out except the ride, I feel like we are the only people in the world.

  Nothing else exists and nothing else matters.

  Just him.

  Me.

  And the open road.

  We ride for an hour, then stop at a scenic view overlooking the city. The view is amazing, the company even better. Tracker is attentive and a good listener. He surprises me at every turn. I keep looking to find something I don’t like about him, something to put me off him, but keep coming up empty. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he seems almost too good to be true.

  “I stop here when I need to think,” he says, taking my hand in his. “It’s quiet, and the view is nice. Kind of like you.”

  I laugh at that. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  He continues to watch me, an intense look on his face. “I’ve never brought anyone up here before.”

  “Ever?”

  He shakes his head. “Never.”

  I look out over the city. “Then why did you bring me here?”

  He absently rubs his chest, right over his heart. “I don’t know. It felt right, I guess. Like you should be here too.”

  I don’t know how to reply to that, so I squeeze his hand, which he threads with his own and continue to stare out at blue sky.

  Suddenly he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever just enjoyed silence with a woman.”

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Maybe you should learn when to stay silent too?”

  He grins, his eyes twinkling. “What I mean is, most women are chatty as hell. Sometimes comfortable silence is the best. When the woman is just enjoying, not angry or plotting.”

  I laugh. “Plotting? What kind of women have you been dating, Tracker?”

  He gives me a Don’t act like you don’t know look. “Most times a silent woman is an angry one.”

  “Some of us are just quiet,” I defend. “And tend to overthink things. Doesn’t necessarily mean plotting.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “I need to take notes when it comes to you.”

  “I’m simple enough,” I reply shyly.

  “For some reason, I doubt that very much,” he says, smiling. “Do you want to head back?”

  I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the breeze. “A few more minutes.”

  When I open them, he’s watching me. He leans closer to me, and tilts his head to the side. “You’re beautiful, Lana.”

  I don’t look away this time. “Thank you.”

  We ride back and come to a stop at my house. Tracker helps me off the bike, his hands lingering on my waist.

  “You liked it,” are the first words that come out of his mouth, a grin playing on his mouth.

  I smile shakily. “I did.”

  “I knew you would.”

  Leaning down, he rubs my cheek with his, his stubble tickling me. Pressing a kiss to my jawline first, he then moves to my mouth, giving me a sweet, gentle kiss, making me yearn for more.

  “You fit,” he says simply.

  My brows furrow at his statement. “Tracker—”

  “I’ll see you Monday morning,” he says, cupping my cheek, then nodding to my door. “Go. I’ll wait for you to get inside.”

  I open my mouth to ask him what he meant when he said I fit. But for some reason I don’t think he wants to be pressed right now.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I tell him before walking to my door.

  He straddles his bike and starts his engine, but waits for me to be safely inside before he rides off.

  I look at him disappear down the street through my window, afraid he’s taken my heart with him.

  EIGHT

  ON Monday morning, I walk into the clubhouse, feeling exuberant. Looking forward to seeing Tracker, I even put in a little effort into my appearance again, wearing a black maxi dress and cute sandals. Hearing noise from the living room, I head there and find Rake watching cartoons with Clover.

  “’Morning, Rake,” I say, leaning down to kiss Clover on top of her head. “Where’s Faye?”

  “She had to go to work earlier this morning, so I’ve been keeping the princess company. Haven’t I, Clover? I even fed her breakfast.”

  He sounds proud.

  “What did you feed her?” I ask in suspicion.

  “Food.”

  “Food from where?”

  “McDonald’s drive-through,” he admits, shrugging sheepishly. “And I’d do it again. It was good.”

  “Me too!” Clover chirps in, a grin on her face. I grin back and sit down next to him. “Where’s Tracker?”

  Rake leans back on the couch, turning to me. “He didn’t tell you? He went to meet up with Sin and the others. They needed him for something.”

  I refrain from asking what they needed him for.

  “Oh.”

  Rake nudges my shoulder. “First Anna, now you. You two used to be such good girls.” He sighs wistfully. “You with your glasses and braces. Anna with her fat little face.”

  I smirk. “I remember you before you were a man-whore. Those were good days.”

  He grabs me and gets me in a headlock¸ messing my hair. “See? The old Lana wouldn’t be mouthing off like this. Tracker’s already a bad influence on you.”

  “Uncle Rake leave Lana alone!” Clover calls out. “You’re both missing the show!”

  Rake lets me go and we both glance at Clover, who has narrowed her eyes at us in disapproval.

  “That’s enough TV, don’t you think? Why don’t we go to the park?” I ask her. She, like me, is on school break, so I have to think of things to amuse her every day. The pools, park, and animal farm are her favorite places. Pretty sure the kid is a better swimmer than me too.

  “Which park?” she asks suspiciously.

  I hide my grin. “Whichever park you want.”

  “Okay,” she quickly agrees. I know which park she likes, it’s the one farthest away.

  I turn to Rake. “Is her car seat in your four-wheel drive?”

  He nods. “Do you want me to put it in your car?”

  “That would be great, thanks, Rake.”

  I get Clover changed and put her in the car. Rake must have let her choose her own outfit, because she was wearing mismatched clothes.

  “You ready for a day of fun?” I ask her, turning to look at her in the backseat.

  “Sure am,” she replies. “I’m the princess of fun.”

  I drive her to the park with a smile on my face.

  * * *

  Since Clover is napping, I decide to start dinner so Faye won’t have to when she gets home. The chicken-and-broccoli pasta is done and I’m just pulling the garlic bread out of the oven when Tracker walks in, looking tired. His hair is disheveled, his clothes rumpled. He slides off his cut and places it on the back of one of the dining table chairs.

  “Fuck, Lana, something smells good,” he says with a small smile. Just as I put the garlic bread down, he pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “Could get used to coming home to this.”

  Such a caveman.

  “I cooked for Faye, not you,” I tease, closing my eyes and resting my head on his chest. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Outside,” he says. “I knew you’d be here so . . .”

  So he ran inside ahead of them? He really can be a sweetheart sometimes.

  “I didn’t want to miss you before you left,” he continues, while I try and process his sweetness. “I know sometimes Faye finishes early.”

  I pull back from him just as the others start piling through the kitchen door.

  “Hey, Lana,” Sin greets, nodding his head at me.

  “Hey, Sin.” I smile. “Clover is sleeping, and Faye is on her way home.”

  He nods. “Something smells good.”

  My mouth twitches. “Help yourself; I cooked plenty. I knew Faye would be tired after work.”

  Sin walks past me a
nd kisses my cheek, then grabs a plate and starts piling.

  “Leave some for me, asshole,” Tracker tells his president, grabbing a plate and pushing him out of the way.

  “Lana,” Arrow says, wrapping an arm around me. “Anna here?”

  I shake my head. “She’s still out with Talon.” Anna only met her stepbrother a few months ago. He’s from a rival MC, so Arrow doesn’t like him, but he tolerates Talon for Anna’s sake.

  A muscle works in his jaw, but he just nods his head at me.

  Trace, Irish, Ronan, and Vinnie walk in, all mumbling a greeting, then going to eat. Luckily I cooked enough for a small army.

  “Can I go, or do you want me to stay?” I ask Sin.

  “Stay,” Tracker says, the same time Sin says, “You can go, Lana.”

  I arch a brow at the two of them. Sin raises his arms in mock protest.

  “Just sayin’ you can go; you’re more than welcome to stay. You’re off babysitting duty.” I smile in thanks.

  “Did you eat?” Tracker asks.

  I shake my head. “Whenever I cook something, I don’t feel like eating it, I don’t know why.”

  The men look down at their plates, unsure looks on their faces.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the food,” I say quickly. “I’m a good cook.”

  “It’s delicious, baby,” Tracker says, grinning. “The best.”

  I ignore the curious looks I get from the other men after hearing his endearment.

  “I’ll see you all tomorrow,” I say, waving awkwardly and walking out of the kitchen. I go into the living room to grab my handbag, and turn around to see Tracker standing there, plate in his hand.

  “If you think I’m letting you go right now after me being gone for two fuckin’ days, you don’t know me at all,” he says casually. “So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice. The hard way sounds tempting though.”

  I put my handbag down, and sit down on the couch.

  “Good girl,” Tracker murmurs, sitting down next to me. He takes a bite of his food, swallows, then asks, “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing much,” I say. “Usual stuff. How about you?”

  He glances at me, then back at his food. “Had club business to handle. Handled it, came home.”

  And would it have killed him to send me a message saying he was going? I know I’m not his girlfriend, so I don’t have the right to ask him that out loud, but it would have been nice to hear it from him that he was leaving.