Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC)

by Kathryn Thomas

  Like the kind he’d never had before.

  Like the kind he’d always secretly wanted with a passion.

  He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I just want to save her. The DHC took her, and fucking Trent cannot be left alone with her. I’m terrified he’ll rough her up and worse, no matter how good a game he talked about her as leverage with us.”

  Trixie swore. “Then this is complicated. We what? Go to a rumble for sweet butt?”

  “You do nothing. You’re not club, don’t have a cut,” he reminded, gesturing to his own leather jacket. It was new, felt wrong too since his old one had been cut to shreds by the E.R. team about a week ago. “We have to get her back, and we have to eliminate the DHC. This has been a long time coming. They clearly have corrupted our ranks, and they’ve tried to kill Spike and fucked with all of us. We’re going to make this end, and we’re going to make it end soon.”

  “I was just saying that. Jesus, Grinder, this is getting complicated.”

  “No shit,” he said, running a hand again through his crusted hair. “I know I’ll get her back, and she’ll leave me anyway. She doesn’t want to be part of this world, is a complete straight and narrow. I mean a nurse, Christ. There’s nothing we have in common.”

  “She not into wet works?” Trixie asked, her tone calm even if her words were blunt.

  “Not at all, and I haven’t killed nearly as many people as she thinks.” It was two now, and that would surely horrify Tess if she ever heard of it. No, she would. Derek would get her back, and he’d tell her to boot. Hiding things from her had created this mess. Either she could love him---all of him, even the criminal side---or she didn’t really. He needed to let her decide based on everything. “I just…I’m a Sinner for life, and she’s the ultimate goody-goody Florence Nightingale type.”

  “Sometimes people surprise you, but there always are sacrifices, there really are. Maybe she’ll quit being a nurse, bend a bit from the straight and narrow.”

  “So she can do pole dances for me all day. I wouldn’t want that.”

  “No, but you’ll figure it out. I figure, first, we worry about the DHC and getting your girl back,” she said, rubbing at his brow one more time.

  Derek was about to reply when Dr. Townsend rushed in. He was a rotund little man with dark brown skin the color of mahogany. He’d been a prominent doctor in Charlotte, but there’d been a scandal with him overprescribing and, eventually, selling Oxy to his patients. He’d been stripped of his license, and only a fancy lawyer had kept him out of the federal pen. Here, he tried to keep up appearances by running a small goods and sundries shop. His real money, of course, came from being the personal doc on call for the Sinners. They paid him excellently for his discretion, and he was worth his damn weight in gold in return.

  Townsend shook his head and looked back at Spike and Smitty who had trailed in behind him. “He looks like hell, and you expect me to work in here? Do you even replace the fluorescents? This whole place blinks like a damn pinball machine. I’m going to have a time doing the evaluation.”

  Spike chuckled and nodded at Smitty who handed Townsend a stack of bills. “You’ll figure it out, Doc. You always do.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  “So that’s the deal,” Derek said, wishing he could pace to dispel his nervous energy. However, he did have bruised ribs, and the doc had wrapped him up with a butterfly bandage and given him a nice dose of Oxy and Flexeril to help deal with the pain. He’d been warned to save his energy and try and rest for a day or two. Fat chance on that. “We have to get her.”

  Spike spun his blade around in his hand. The blade was switched in, but spinning it between his fingers helped their boss think. Idly, Derek wondered if he had missed the knife a bit as an extension of himself. He’d always been so damn lethal and accurate with it, after all. “I don’t just risk club members for civilians, let alone ones that have led us on a goose chase over the last week.”

  He nodded. “I understand that, I do, but she risked everything to keep that blade hidden. She didn’t turn it over to the cops when she had a chance, and she mentioned even her best friend’s boyfriend is a cop. She had the chances to just make it someone else’s problem. I was bringing her back to the clubhouse, and those fuckers jumped us.”

  Smitty nodded and stroked his doughy, flabby chin. “Sure, and we should go in like Indiana Jones or Superman just to save the girl?”

  “No,” Derek said, his tone hard. “These bastards have been playing us. They infiltrate our board. They set us up for fake treaty talks and almost kill Spike and now spend the better part of a week trying to get him sent away for life for murder. Now, they almost kill me and take my girl. It’s all-out war, and I say we go in and burn it down, scorched earth style.”

  Smitty shook his head. “Still sounds like you’re too emotional on this, too close.”

  “I am. Tess is my old lady, and I want to keep her safe, but we’ve all had too many scrapes because of them, too much pain. It’s time to show DHC who owns this town. Hell, we own this whole damn county!”

  Spike nodded and pushed his dark hair back from his face. “I think you’re right, Grinder. They do this and get away with murdering her, then they’ll start taking all our women because they can; they’ll think we’re too weak or too chicken shit for direct retaliation. We aren’t. But we have to be smart about this. We gather up our resources and we do a surgical strike of all of this in a day or two. They’ll expect us gun blazing today, alright? Let me call a full club meeting, and we’ll figure it out.”

  “And if someone gets the plans back to Trent? We still don’t know who our damn mole is,” Derek huffed.

  “We’ll take that chance, but only the three of us from here on out will know the extent of plans. Any surprises we schedule, it’s just us,” Spike said.

  Derek eyed Smitty. “He was pretty big on screwing with me and going after Tess. How do we know that he’s not also on the take?”

  Smitty stood then and glared back at him. “I’m not. I thought you were, and I was doing my damn job. I’ve known Spike for almost twenty years. I’ve been shot for him. I would be the last rat bastard to turn traitor.”

  Spike nodded vigorously. “Exactly. I trust Smitty but everyone else? We keep the biggest moves close to the vest. We do this, and we will show the Death Head’s Crew what we’re all about. Trent’s going to regret ever messing with us. I promise you that. For all of us.”

  Derek stood up, glad for the Flexeril because even through the haze of meds, the pain was still there, peeking through at his consciousness. Reaching over, he shook Spike’s hand first and then, after some hesitation, shook Smitty’s as well. “Deal, let’s do this.”

  Spike chuckled and offered a feral smile that Derek mimicked as well. “Let’s make them bleed.”

  ***

  “Man, we’re doing what?” Ron demanded, his red hair wild and tousled all over. Ron had always been a bit of a slob, but he looked like he’d slept like shit. His hair was the least of it; his eyes were bloodshot, and he was leaning over a bit, as if he couldn’t quite stay awake.

  At his bar seat and over a plate of slightly burned chicken fingers (God love Trixie, cooking really wasn’t her skill set), Derek frowned back at his friend. “Are you alright? You look almost as much like shit as I do, and that’s saying an awful lot.”

  Ron shook his head. “It’s nothing, man. We had that rough turf war thing. I was called in when stuff went to shit with our dealers. I’ll live.”

  Derek considered that. Those were the right words, made perfect sense, but something rang false in his tone. The sincerity didn’t meet Ron’s eyes, and after years together in the foster system and juvie, after a decade as Sinners and back-to-back in fights, Derek figured he knew exactly when Ron was being honest. Hell, he knew the other man better than he knew himself.

  “Seriously man, what’s wrong?”

  “We lost Raccoon. He was shot through the chest, and there was nothing even To
wnsend could do. The Death’s Head Crew is beating us all down, and now you want to rush in to their stronghold like a damn cowboy, guns blazing?”

  “I want to save Tess’s life, and we all want, especially Spike, to stamp these bastards out. They’ve encroached too long on our territory, and now they’ve killed or tried to kill too many. I didn’t even know about Raccoon, but we’re going to do better, going to make them pay.”

  “And that’s completely rational. It’ll be a blood bath.”

  He frowned and dropped one of the tenders to the basket, his appetite vanished for now. “That’s not how we usually talk or think. These are punks, man, wannabes. They’ve been on our asses for years, and now it’s time to make them as dead and gone as Los Lobos practically is now.”

  Ron sighed and stumbled to a stool. He leaned against it, but didn’t even seem to have the energy to sit down on it. “We’re going to lose. The guys are in shit shape from last night, and you look like a damn eighteen wheeler hit you.”

  “Since when do you doubt me?” He asked, tone cold. “Since we were nine, it’s been us against the whole damn world, and now you think I’m just being stubborn or silly. Tess doesn’t deserve to die, but Trent Lachlan sure does. And when we’re done, the traitor will be the next target. We’re cleaning house, brother, and everything’s finally going to be the way it should be.”

  “Great story if half of us don’t end up in body bags.”

  “Bleeding is part of the price of being a Sinner, always has been. Don’t turn into some yellow-bellied cowardly piece of shit over all of this.”

  “I’m not!” Ron said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just think you have to see how nuts all of this is, how it’s going to end up like a last shootout at the O.K. Corral.”

  “Then that’s what it will be,” he said, standing and then shoving his hands in his pocket. “This is all bullshit, and you know it. We can take the Crew, and we both know it. I’m sorry about Raccoon, I am, but there’s something deeper going on with you, man. Why don’t you just let me in?”

  “Because there’s nothing else. This is me just being honest, seeing the damn writing on the wall. We’re going to be in trouble, and if we get slaughtered over some piece of sweet butt, then it’s all on your head.”

  The punch connected with Ron’s jaw with a sickening crunch before Derek even realized it. His best friend’s head snapped back hard, and it left Ron spitting out blood and a small white fleck that Derek feared was part of a tooth.

  Derek’s eyes grew wide with shock. He reached out and tried to grab Ron by the shoulder. “Ron, brother, I’m sorry.”

  Ron rubbed at his jaw and shook his head. “No, Grinder, you’re not.” With that, the other man stomped back into the offices, leaving Derek more confused than ever.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  It was raining.

  It had been raining all week, and that suited Tess fine. If her world was going to be bleak and grey now that Jason was dead, then the rest of the world should be just as bleak. At least everyone else could feel a shade of the agony eating through her soul. Sarah had been crying as hard as she had all week, but she’d done better with the extended family coming into town. She could at least make small talk or try “showing respect” for Jason by recalling older, happier memories. When her adoptive grandparents and cousins tried to speak with her, Tess just broke into tears and locked herself in her room for at least an hour.

  She couldn’t talk about it.

  If she talked about it, then it was real.

  Of course, as she stood on the edge of the plot, watching as rain fell over into the hole with the casket already lowered down, there was no sense in pretending anything. It was real. The rain was pouring hard now, and she was glad for that. It helped to hide the tears streaking down her face.

  The whole world without Jason was just this: dark and foreboding.

  Her mother touched her hand, and she looked back. It took some time to realize that only the four of them were the ones left in the cemetery. Sarah was already huddled up under dad’s arms, and her face was red from crying, almost matching her strawberry blonde hair.

  “Sweetheart, we have to go,” her mom said.

  She nodded but had to be practically dragged from there. There was a note burning a hole in the fabric of her purse, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it, if it would be worse or better to reveal the truth of it to her family. A few days after the accident, she’d talked to a paramedic on the scene. Erica had always been a close friend of hers, and she’d been able to wheedle that connection enough to get more details on Jason’s accident. He’d been riding for almost a year and seemed pretty damn decent at it. Not that she didn’t know from her work how easy it was to be sloppy for a split second, how easy it was to take a wrong turn and end up as Jason had.

  Still, Erica had told her that he’d been cut off by another bike, a massive Harley so much bigger than the bike Jason had built himself from parts he’d saved up for over the years. That had caused the wipe out, at least witnesses said that. Her friend had written a short list of all she knew. The bike had fled the scene.

  Maybe they should look for it, press to find that person in Asheville or the surrounding area who had ruined their lives.

  And yet, maybe it would be worse to keep this wound open, to create a search and Dragnet for answers that might never come. The others? They had closure, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. All Tess had was a hole in her heart that was starting to consume her. Her blood family was gone, and the last of her innocence and hope was gone along with him.

  ***

  Tess awoke with a startled leap up from her bed.

  No, not her bed. She was on some thread bare cot in a locked concrete room. There was a bucket and a roll of toilet paper in one corner. There were also a few windows. They were cut off, only half of them visible, and the dim light filtered in. This was enough to tell her she was being kept in a basement and that it was at least daylight. If it were a day or three after she’d been caught and made to pass out, Tess couldn’t be sure. She figured it wasn’t too long after her capture. To be honest, nature would have called eventually and woken her even if her nightmares hadn’t.

  She shuddered and took deep breaths. Tess had tried her damnedest not to think about the funeral or about Jason’s death at all. It had been difficult enough this week with it being the five year anniversary, but now that she was thrown into her own life and death struggle, Tess was reliving so much from that time. It wasn’t just arguments she’d had with Jason, but it was the days around his death and funeral, things that had passed as if through a fog. She’d forgotten about the suspicious nature of the accident, the cut off that had almost rendered it a hit-and-run. The other biker had clipped him, and she should have pursued that, should have done her best to bring full justice to her brother.

  Tess always assumed there would be time for things later.

  Even after Jason’s death, she assumed there’d be time for things, that she’d be able to fully process her mourning, that she and Sarah would patch up their differences. Hell, that she could even find joy again. She had, and she wasn’t sure what it said about her that the man who made her feel most alive in the world, the man who made her heart sing, was a criminal. He had killed people as part of his job, to protect his club and his president, and she was supposed to be a healer.

  Still, she wished she hadn’t worried so much about what her parents might think, that she’d been brave enough to tell them everything she’d learned about his accident.

  She wished for so many things.

  The man who entered into her cell was short with black hair buzz cut close to his head. He had tawny skin and eyes that were wider just a bit than average, as if he had possibly Chinese or Japanese heritage somewhere lurking in his background. She took a look at him and recognized him at least from earlier back out at the highway. He’d been the one she’d been able to get in a kick or two to his knees. He was carrying a small tra
y with a sandwich, a banana, and a bottle of water.

  She hesitated at her corner of the room, afraid that he was using the food as some kind of a lure for something else, something she didn’t want to think about.

  “You hungry, sweet butt?”

  Tess stood up straighter and narrowed her eyes at him. “My name’s Tess, and I’m…I don’t actually know yet what I am to Derek Allanson, but it’s more than just some damn groupie.”

  The man shrugged and set the tray down at his left side. “That’s fine then. I don’t much care. I just have my orders. Trent said that I was to give you food and water, make sure that you kept your strength up.” He leered at her a little, his tongue running over his teeth. They were yellowed and cracked, and she wondered if one of the reasons he’d lost them was also a case of sampling his own wares as a meth dealer.

  For what it was worth, the Sinners seemed more in control. The Death’s Head Crew might be wily or have resources and moles or who knew what to be able to create that blockade, but they also seemed doomed in the long run. After all, none of them, if Trent’s pockmarked face was anything to go by, were good at refraining from sampling their own stashes.