Free Wicked Man by Beth D. Carter Page A

voice.

    “I needed to go someplace to protect her,” he said in an
    equally soft tone. “She’s in trouble. Like you were in trouble.”
    Piper’s concerned face turned fierce. “Then she’s more than
    welcome to stay here with us.”
    “Only until I can figure out how to find the asshole who’s hurt
    her.”
    Piper nodded, as if she understood, and he figured out of
    anyone, she really did know what Abbott had gone through. What she
    was still going through.
    “Have you talked to Kix yet?”
    “No,” he replied. “I came straight here, to you.”
    “She can visit inside with me while you go talk to him.”
    He nodded and turned to Abbott once more. “Hey, Abbott,
    come up here and meet my sister.”
    The wind blew Abbott’s long hair back, and it fanned out
    behind her as she walked toward him. She was so lovely it took his
    breath away, and he wondered how he became such a lucky son-of-a-
    bitch that she was his.
    He held out his hand and when she reached for it, he linked
    their fingers. “This is Piper, my sister. Piper, this is Abbott Carney.
    My woman.”
    His words caused Abbott to tighten her hold and when he
    looked at her, a dreamy smile softened her features.
    Piper gave her a hug. “Welcome, Abbott. Why don’t you
    come inside and have some iced tea? Wick has to go talk with Kix.”
    “Okay. Thank you, that’s really kind of you.”
    Piper pulled her away from him and led her into the house.
    Knowing Abbott was safe eased the tension from his shoulders, and
    he turned to head back to his bike. The ride to the grandstand only
    took a few minutes, and members of the White Death glanced his way
    with curiosity in their gazes. The only other time he’d been there had
    been when he had been negotiating with Kix about the club
    affiliation, so most probably didn’t know who he was.
    Slade greeted him at the door and motioned for him to follow.
    The grandstand was a lot more homey than his own clubhouse, and
    had more of a woman’s touch with the bright color painted on the
    walls and the lack of posters featuring naked chicks. There were the
    usual big-screen televisions, dart boards, pool table, and bar, but Wick

    quite liked the way the men seemed a little more refined. Maybe it
    was an illusion due to the clubhouse, but still, different was nice.
    Slade led him upstairs to a large room that clearly functioned
    as the office. Two large bookcases, filled with old tomes, bracketed a
    large mahogany desk where Kix Rockwood sat behind, like a
    corporate executive about to give him a performance review.
    Kix rose when he entered the room and held out his hand.
    “Wick,” he greeted. “Slade told me you had arrived. I see
    you’re wearing our logo.”
    Wick shook his hand before tapping the patch on the front of
    his cut. “Of course.”
    “How’s the club? Isn’t Heart about to go on the first run with
    our products? In return he’ll get the hundred percent grade-A
    pseudoephedrine from our inside source to bring back to you. Best
    there is to make your meth.”
    “Yeah,” Wick said. “Only Striker is road captain this trip.
    Heart’s uncle passed and he’s with his aunt, helping her.”
    “Striker good?”
    “I wouldn’t trust just anyone with this run,” Wick assured
    him. “He’ll get the job done.”
    “Good,” Kix said. “Give Heart my condolences when you see
    him again.”
    “I will.”
    Kix sat down and gestured for Wick to do the same.
    “Well,” he said. “If it’s not about the upcoming ride, then
    what brings you to my territory, Wick?”
    Wick took a deep breath and rubbed the lower part of his face.
    “I need a favor,” Wick said in a low voice.
    Kix threaded his fingers together and laid them on the desktop.
    “What type of favor? Club favor?”
    Wick shook his head. “Personal.”
    Kix arched an eyebrow, stretching the black diamond on his
    temple. “Gotta hear it first before I say okay.”
    “I need to talk to your brother,” Wick admitted.