Craving Trix (The Aces' Sons 1)

“Yep,” Casper said, his whole body seeming to sag in relief.

“Grease?” Dragon called, drawing attention to the silent man beside him.

“Cremated Mick,” he whispered roughly. “Not doin’ nothin’ ’til my woman’s out of the hospital.”

I closed my eyes against the look on his face. The man was barely hanging on—I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten that far.

“Ain’t sure she’s gonna want a club—” Grease said apologetically.

“No worries, brother,” Dragon replied softly, reaching out to grip Grease’s shoulder. “You do what’s best for your family. Ain’t no one gonna question that.”

“You got the cheddar for that?” Samson spoke up, surprising us all. “Me and Ash can help with Micky.”

“I got it, man, thanks,” Grease said with a nod, a look of understanding passing between them.

Another knock broke into the tense silence and Dragon cursed. “Grand Central fuckin’ Station.”

“What?” Grease yelled sharply at the door, his nerves obviously fried.

Samson’s woman, Ash, poked her head in, making him sit up straighter. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the man was afraid his woman was going to drag his ass out like Amy had done to Poet.

“Sorry,” she said worriedly, glancing around the room. “But someone’s screamin’ like they’re dyin’.” Her eyes met mine. “Think it’s Trix.”

I shot up from the table, glancing at Dragon.

“Go!” he ordered, standing up quickly.

I ran.

When I got to my room, I threw open the door, Trix’s screams getting loud as fuck once they weren’t muffled by the solid wood. She was thrashing around, tangled up in the blanket and sheets as she wailed nonsense.

I felt Dragon at my back as I stepped into the room and reached for her.

“Bea,” I yelled over her cries. “It’s a dream, baby. It’s a dream.”

Trix hit me in the face as she flailed, and I scrambled to grab her arms as she fought me in her sleep. She was pulling so hard against me, I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.

“You’re okay,” I murmured over and over as I tried to contain her. “Baby, wake up.” My voice cracked.

Finally, I crawled completely on top of her, dropping my body over hers as she beat at my back. I pressed my face against hers, seeing stars as her forehead hit my cheekbone.

“Shhh,” I whispered into her ear as she finally slowed her struggles, then went completely still beneath me. “You’re okay, Sweetbea. It’s just a dream.”

I lifted my head and glanced quickly at Dragon, who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were dark and haunted as he nodded at me, stepping back and pulling the door closed, leaving me and Trix alone.

“Cam?” she asked softly, tears running down her face, into her hair.

“Hey,” I whispered gently back, my throat tight.

It was too much. I was cracking. After everything that had happened that day, I was finally at the end of my rope. I wanted to weep.

“I was looking for you,” she whispered back, her eyes glossy.

“I was right here, baby.”

“No, you weren’t,” she murmured back, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

* * *

Three days later, we said goodbye to Gram, Slider and Vera. They were going to be buried in a cemetery on the edge of town, leaving a space between Gram and Vera for Micky’s ashes. Callie had decided she wanted Mick in beside his great-grandmother, but they were waiting to lay him to rest until she could be there. Until then, his remains would stay in his bedroom.

As I helped a hollow-eyed Trix into one of the limos the funeral home had provided, I glanced around to the sea of bikes waiting to leave from the funeral. Aces members from chapters all over the west coast had traveled to Eugene to pay their respects. So had members of other clubs we were allies with, coming from places all over the US, from Florida to Montana.

“I’ll see you at the cemetery,” I said quietly to Trix as I helped her buckle her seatbelt. The limo was already full of family, her mom and Farrah, my little sisters, Tommy and Rose.

Leo was riding in the procession, his scar on full display for the first time since the shooting.

I nodded at my ma and backed out of the limo, walking over to where my bike was parked. The people of Eugene were going to be out in full force as we rode through town, and the thought of the police outriders stopping traffic along the route made me chuckle a little under my breath.

The day before, I’d finally heard from the cop who’d questioned me. They were closing the case. Between the boys’ prints all over their weapons and the fact that our guns were registered, it was a clear case of self-defense. He’d sounded pissed. I was pretty sure Poet had something to do with the fact that the dogs had been called off. He’d probably called in every favor he had with the department, one last hurrah before he stepped away.