Tray (A Hell's Harlem Novel Book 2) Read online

I giggled.

  Me: Do…

  I paused. Would it seem desperate if I asked him if he wanted to video chat? I was new at this and he was far older than I was. Did he even know how to video chat? God, Zillah. He was only thirty-eight. Not one hundred.

  Tray: Something wrong?

  I bit my bottom lip. Screw it. Hitting the video camera icon, I waited until Tray’s too handsome face appeared on the screen.

  “Well, Zillah. Not many can say they’ve seen me at this hour.”

  I grinned, my cheeks heating. “Does that mean most people you spend time with at this hour are sleeping or …”

  “Or they’re not looking at my face.” He winked. “So, tell me, why can’t you sleep?”

  I shrugged, resting my chin in my palm. “I’ve never been a good sleeper. Just once I would like to be so damn exhausted that I’m forced to sleep and then I’ll wake up and be the most refreshed I’ve ever felt.” I laughed. “That’s probably lame.”

  “Nah.” Tray lit up a smoke, puffed on the end, and blew small smoke rings out into the air.

  I swallowed hard. How the hell could someone smoking be suddenly the hottest thing I had ever seen?

  “My friend’s trying to get me to quit.”

  “I see that’s working out really well.” I laughed.

  He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s my only vice. I’ll have a beer every now and again but these cigarettes are my true downfall. Well … these and …”

  “And?” I raised an eyebrow.

  His dark eyes met mine. “Sex.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Is that a thing?”

  “It can be.” He stuck the smoke back in his mouth. “If it’s with the wrong person I guess.”

  I nodded like I knew what he meant, when in reality, I had no fucking idea what he was talking about. “Why are you up?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep either. I just got back from the gym, took a shower, and was too on edge to relax. So here we are.”

  “What would take the edge off?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “Zillah.” His voice lowered. “You know the answer to that already. Don’t you?”

  “Sex,” I whispered and placed the phone against the base of the headboard.

  “Tell me, Beauty. Did you go to school?”

  “I graduated high school and got my Master’s in computer programming,” I answered, thankful for the change in subject. “But I didn’t do anything more with it.”

  “Why not?” Tray placed the phone against something and sat back before taking off his shirt.

  My jaw dropped as my eyes slid along the lines of his hard, tattooed muscles. His nipples were pierced along with his belly button.

  He laid back down on his bed, mirroring my pose and waited. “Zillah?”

  I coughed. “Yeah. Um. What was the question?”

  He laughed. “You know how to make an old man feel good.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “I’m thirty-eight.” He rubbed the dark scruff on his strong jaw.

  “That’s not old,” I pointed out, wishing I was there with him. My stomach tumbled. I should not be thinking these thoughts.

  “It’s not. Not technically, but in the line of work I do, age creeps up on you faster than you would like.”

  “My dad is going to be sixty soon. While he likes to think he can still party like the boys, he can’t. So, he’s training Kian to take his place.”

  “That’ll be some big motherfucking party when that happens.”

  “Yeah.” I thought a moment. “How do you know my dad?”

  “We’ve gone over this.”

  “We have but I still don’t know how you know him. Or know of him. And Kian actually left me alone with you.” It confused me when Kian had never done that before.

  “I can’t explain that. What your brother does is all on him.”

  “Tray.”

  “I met your dad years ago. When I was running for clubs. Before I met Greyson Mercer.”

  “Greyson Mercer?” I had heard that name before. “Isn’t he the president of …”

  “Hell’s Harlem.”

  “Oh.” My heart jumped. “Do you work with him?”

  “I do.” Tray frowned. “Does that bother you?”

  “No but it might bother my dad.” Although I had grown up in the life, my dad still tried his best to keep me out of it as much as possible. But that proved to be difficult over the years seeing as who my father was.

  “Your dad knows I’m friends with bikers.”

  “No. I mean with us. He’ll be pissed knowing I’m chatting to someone who hangs out with them, let alone a man.” I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck.

  “Zillah, you can’t live under your dad’s thumb for the rest of your life.”

  Shadows moved under the foot of the door leading to my room. My heart gave a start. Grabbing the phone, I hid it under my pillow just as the door opened.

  “Zillah?” My dad peeked his head into the room. “What are you doing up?”

  “I can’t sleep. I was just about to grab a glass of water,” I told him, surprised at how easy it was for the lie to roll off my tongue.

  He nodded once. “Sleep well.”

  “You too, Daddy.”

  He shut the door, leaving me alone with the banging of my heart.

  I locked the door before jumping back on the bed and grabbing my phone.

  “You live with your fucking father?”

  I swallowed hard at the hard tone of Tray’s voice. “I do.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Only if you stop giving me that growly voice,” I told him.

  “I am not giving you a growly voice.”

  “No?” I leaned the phone against the base of the headboard again. “You find out I live with my dad still and you go all alpha macho man on me. It’s not like I’m living with some random dude. He’s my father.”

  “Don’t care,” Tray grumbled.

  “Really? Are you jealous of my dad?” I had meant for it to be teasing but his sudden mood change was throwing me off.

  “No. I’m not jealous of your dad. I’m growly, as you like to put it, because I can’t ever go over to see you because of who you live with. That’s why.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “Is that all?”

  He chuckled. “You are something else, Beauty.”

  “I can come there. Wherever you are anyway.”

  “Would you like that? Coming to my place? Seeing my home? Where I live? Everything that makes up me?”

  My heart sped up with each question that left his mouth. “Why do those questions suddenly sound so damn erotic when you’re just asking me to come over?”

  Tray smirked. “I have that way.”

  God, he was too much. Could I even handle him? I was a virgin and he was far from being inexperienced. It made me wonder how long it took him to become as confident as he was.

  “It’s pushing four in the morning. I should let you get some sleep.”

  My stomach sunk. “Okay.”

  “But first,” his voice lowered, “leave me with something to go to sleep to.”

  “Like what?”

  “Use your imagination, Zillah. What do you think will help me sleep?”

  “Sex.” I laughed.

  “As much as I would like for that to be the case, that can’t happen right now. Not yet. We need to have our date first.”

  “You still want to do that?” I asked him, leaning my head on my pillow.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  I moved the phone to its side, leaning it against the other pillow. Stifling a yawn, I curled my arms under my head. “What do you want me to leave you with?”

  “Anything you think I need.”

  Chewing my bottom lip, I lowered my top, revealing my breasts.

  “Hmm …” He licked his lips. “Touch them.”

  I cupped them, massaged, and kneaded until a grumble sounded from the phone.


  “Fuck me. I don’t think that’ll help me sleep much.”

  I laughed, covering myself, and rolled onto my stomach.

  “Good night, Beauty. I’ll text you in a few hours and we can go over details for our date.”

  “I wish you were here beside me,” I murmured, my eyes fluttering closed.

  “Me too, Zillah,” he paused. “Me too.”

  I MET ZILLAH a month ago. We texted and chatted on the phone every day, but I hadn’t seen her since that first meeting at the shop. You would think I was a thirteen-year-old girl, but I found I needed it. To hear her voice. To listen to her ramble on about shit I didn’t quite understand but was curious about just the same. It made me happy in a way that I hadn’t seen her for that long. The chemistry was there, and I knew she felt it just as hard as I did, but this gave us both the chance to connect on an emotional level.

  My thoughts drifted to Catch and the women I had been with. Connecting mentally was just what I needed.

  It was now date night, and I was nervous as hell.

  Tonight was the first night Zillah’s brother could get her any time with me. I didn’t like sneaking around, as exciting as it could be. I wanted people to know who was on my arm. I wanted men especially to know that it was only me she had eyes for.

  My stomach did a flip at these unexpected and fast feelings.

  I had never actually been on a date before. I would just pick up women and go home with them or they would come back to my room at the clubhouse. But this was different. It was something I had never felt before. I actually wanted to bring Zillah back to my own home. A place where I had never brought someone before. My club brothers had only been to my place a handful of times. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if they knew I still had a place of my own.

  A knock sounded on the door just as I slid into my black leather jacket. Smoothing my hands down the soft but worn material, I let out a heavy sigh.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your cut?”

  “You should really wait for someone to answer the door before you barge in,” I told Greyson without looking up.

  “This is my house, fucker.” He stood beside me, looking at me in the reflection of the floor-length mirror. “Big date? Is that why you’re not wearing your cut?”

  “Something like that,” I muttered.

  “Does Catch know?”

  My jaw clenched. “We’re not together. We never were together. He knows that.” I popped the collar of the jacket.

  “Does she know you’re a biker?”

  “Am I really a biker?” I met his gaze that time. “I haven’t told her yet but she’s not stupid,” I said when he didn’t answer my question.

  “I want you in my club,” Greyson said, changing the subject. Thankfully. “And yes, you’re still a biker. Even though you’re a damn loner. Nomad. Whatever the fuck you want to call yourself. You are a biker. Again, I need you in my club.”

  “I keep telling you. You gotta buy me dinner first.”

  Grey laughed, grabbing my cut off the back of the chair sitting in the corner of the room by the door. “Before you leave, we need to have a quick meeting.”

  “Is this about me patching in?” I asked him, following him out into the hall.

  “Maybe,” he said, just as Eve came up the stairs.

  “Hey, guys.” She smiled at Greyson as he scooped her up into his arms and spun her.

  She giggled. “Put me down, ass.” She met my gaze. “I wanted to warn you.” She pushed her husband off of her and took a step toward me. “Catch has someone here.”

  My heart jumped. “Okay …”

  “This can’t be weird,” Greyson interjected. “I need you two to get through your shit so we can have things back to normal.”

  As several voices sounded and came closer, my heart picked up speed.

  Catch came down the hall toward us with a woman and another man at his sides. Catch’s deep blue eyes met mine. He nodded once, stopping at the door to his room. He waited. He was inviting me to join but I couldn’t. Not when I was about to go on a date. I was an asshole but I wouldn’t do that to Zillah.

  “Catch, before you do your thing, we’re having a meeting.” Greyson clapped his shoulder, muttering something quietly to him.

  Catch nodded. “You two start without me,” he told the couple pawing at each other beside him.

  The man and woman stumbled into his room, closing the door behind them.

  Catch headed back downstairs, and I realized then that things would never be back to normal.

  “Hey.” Eve touched my arm.

  I jumped, forgetting she was even there.

  “You okay?” She frowned, looking everywhere but directly at me.

  “Yup.” I headed down the hall, following Greyson and Catch, and made my way to the meeting room without looking back. My name was called but I ignored it. I needed to get this shit done and over with so I could spend time with someone who didn’t know me as Tray the biker but Tray the man.

  I was sure Zillah would be pissed I kept that I was a biker to myself but I knew how her dad worked. He would lose his shit if he found out she was going on a date with a guy. Especially a biker.

  “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until …” My voice trailed off as I saw the guys in Hell’s Harlem standing around the table. Even Demitry Bloom, the ex-president was there.

  I swallowed hard, my heart jumping in my chest. “What’s going on?”

  Greyson laid my vest on the table in front of him and placed a knife on top of it. He was ready to cut off the patches. As soon as I said the word, they would be removed and replaced with the Hell’s Harlem logo. But the one that mattered most, the one I had been dying for the day to be removed, was Nomad. I had spent years being a loner, traveling from club to club only to stick around once I found Hell’s Harlem.

  “Come here,” Greyson demanded, spreading out my cut in front of him.

  The guys moved, making way for me.

  “Here.” Greyson handed me the knife. “Cut it off.”

  I hesitated. Could I do it? Could I be a club member? Could I belong to a family that wasn’t mine and love them like they were?

  My eyes searched around the room, finally landing on Catch.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally said. “I …”

  “Leave us.” Greyson placed the knife on my vest before resting his knuckles on the table.

  The guys didn’t say anything but I could feel their stares burning into the side of my head. They had every right. I was losing it. I could become a full member and I shot that shit down. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Once we were alone, I began pacing.

  “Look, I don’t … I can’t … fuck.” I was a mess inside my head and didn’t know how to fix it.

  “Talk to me.” Greyson sat at the head of the table.

  “I don’t know if I belong.” I slumped into the chair behind me and dropped my head into my hands. “I’ve never belonged and this shit … It’s not sitting well with me.”

  “We’re not going to leave you. We’re not …” Greyson’s jaw ticked. “Listen to me. I love you. We love you. Whatever is going on between you and Catch, it doesn’t matter. He loves you too.”

  I grunted.

  “Tray. You belong with us.”

  I stood. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and for taking me in, but I need to think about this.” Before he could argue, I left the room and headed out the front door.

  “Tray.”

  Shit. I turned, finding Catch running toward me.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you always wanted to patch in. What happened?”

  I did want to patch in, but I wasn’t sure if I deserved it. “I don’t know. I need to think about it.” I trudged to my SUV, my gaze landing on my bike. As much as I wanted to ride her good and hard, I didn’t think taking Zillah on the back of it on our first date would go over well.

  “Is it because of me? Of us?”

>   “I told you in the beginning that I couldn’t have a relationship with you.” I slowly turned toward him. “We’ve fucked around. Yes, I was selfish, and I own that shit. I’m sorry. But I feel like I led you on even though I was honest with you from the very start.”

  “I never asked to fall in love with you,” he threw back at me.

  “Fuck. Catch.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “You can’t say that shit to me. You can’t love me. You deserve better. So much better.” I walked around to the driver’s side.

  “I don’t want anyone else.” His voice was laced with pain. A pain so deep because I put it there.

  “Catch, I can’t.” Zillah.

  He stepped up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You may think you’re not good enough. For the club. For me. For anyone. But you are, Tray.” He squeezed my shoulder and left.

  A breath of air escaped me, one I hadn’t realized I was holding. Holy fucking hell.

  Sliding into the SUV, I slammed the door closed and beat my fists against the steering wheel. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why couldn’t I give Catch what he deserved? Why couldn’t I ever be satisfied instead of so damn greedy?

  Gripping the steering wheel, I let out a frustrated yell.

  My phone dinged.

  Pulling it from the inner pocket of my jacket, a sense of relief washed over me when I saw who texted.

  Beauty: I’m looking forward to our date.

  Everything around me fell just from that one text. The anger I felt at not loving Catch back. The frustration coursing through me over being indecisive about joining Hell’s Harlem.

  As I sped out of the parking lot and toward the woman I had only met a month ago, I hoped things were taking a turn in the right direction.

  RUNNING MY HANDS down the front of my black dress, I thought it might have been too much. It hugged my curves, the dip in the front showcasing cleavage I wouldn’t dare reveal around my father or his men.

  “If you want to be treated like a lady, you have to dress like one. These men are vile human beings, Zillah. They would eat you alive.”

  But if my dad had it his way, I would be wearing a hazmat suit for the rest of my life.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. “You decent?” Kian asked from the other side.