by Christa Wick
"And he snuck in last night to convince you not to return to Billings," Siobhan softly crowed. "I know because, after he left, he stopped by Gamble's dump on his way out of town to brief him on the extra security concerns, hence my sparkling presence here this morning."
She finished with a smirk and a light tap against her holstered sidearm.
"Deputy Turk reporting for duty."
10
Emerson
Opening the door to the Billings clubhouse, I paused to study the cacophony of snores. I heard bear-like snores, muted whistling, snuffles. The sounds were accompanied by the distinct odor of dozens of overworked lungs filtering out the alcohol and drugs consumed the night before.
With everyone sleeping, I eased slowly past the men and women sprawled on couches, across chairs, and on the floor. Reaching Tribble curled up on the bare concrete, I bent and studied the pattern of the man's boot soles. They were a Harley Davidson brand, each style having its own unique print. I didn't know the style by name, but the print matched the photo of the bruise across my right shoulder blade.
I tucked the information away. After I slapped a pair of cuffs on Tribble, I would find a completely legal way to mess with the man's head. Maybe I would dangle a deal that didn't exist, give Tribble a few hours of hope at his darkest point thinking charges weren't going to be filed.
Petty, yes. But I had left my better angel back in Willow Gap.
Left her angry, in tears, and despising me with every inch of her luscious body.
Needing sleep, I scanned the chairs around me. Gaze landing on another of the club's new member prospects, I nudged the man's foot.
Gecko's bleary eyes opened in acknowledgment.
"Move, worm."
Gecko sneered, the expression plastered on his face as he pushed onto his feet and staggered toward the bathroom.
Bruised and clearly despised after taking Hatchet down so easily in the cage, I dragged the chair against a wall before I sank onto it. The fabric stank from amped-up sweat, spilled alcohol, vomit, and cheap perfume the women wore as they attempted to hide their over-fucked, under-washed state.
The bathroom door slammed. Gecko returned, spotted one of the women alone and crawled on top of her like she was his personal mattress. I watched Gecko shove his hand into the woman's shorts. The woman remained still, either unconscious or doing an Oscar-worthy job of pretending she was.
Eyelids growing heavier, I scanned the room one last time. A lot of the bodies belonged to the men Hatchet had sent out to look for Delia. These same men would be riding shotgun when it was time to trade the club's illegal weapons and methamphetamine for the militia's cash. Even someone like Gecko, who had joined as a prospect just a month earlier and probably wouldn't be present during the exchange, would get caught up in conspiracy and racketeering charges.
Most of the men were looking at decades in a federal prison with no chance of parole. Some of them would get life. There was a whole matrix to how bad they were fucking themselves. Zero to thirteen points for a criminal history, points for wearing a bulletproof vest, points for carrying a gun to the deal, points for shooting a gun even if the bullet didn't hit anyone.
Counting up the sentencing points like they were sheep jumping over a fence, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
"What the fuck are you lazy pieces of shit doing!"
Stretching, yesterday's bruised muscles complaining with renewed fury, I looked toward the front door where Junker stood with legs spread, hands on hips, and his pelvis thrust forward as if he was about to grab hold of his dick and take a piss on everyone.
Pitching forward, Junker smacked the back of Mongo's head.
"Hose down the bitches. I want them on the street working before I drop my morning load."
Mongo scrambled over the back of the couch, jerked the arm of the first woman he saw and pushed her toward the bathroom.
"Five minutes and then I'm coming in with my belt."
"I gotta pee!"
He jerked her back, grabbed a handful of hair and tugged hard. "Piss in the shower. Five minutes!"
I extinguished the flare of pity I felt. It was hard to witness the daily abuse inflicted on the women. I had been raised to respect females. But these women hadn't been raised to respect themselves.
It was a hard, ugly truth. They went out unchaperoned, came back with money they handed over in exchange for their second high of the day. They could have flagged down a cop car instead or taken a bus to a homeless shelter.
The women could be just as vicious as the males, too. The club had a hierarchy of violence. Everything flowed down from Junker. Then the other club officers, including Mongo. Then Melalee, the oldest of the sweetbutts. She liked to get heavy with her fists. No doubt she would be the one enforcing the five-minute time limit Mongo had imposed.
Reaching me, Junker stopped and pinned a tight-lipped smile from one side of his face to the other. He looked over my torn shirt, his attention bouncing off the bruises Tribble and his buddies made that were visible through the rips.
"I heard you left last night. Needed to work off some steam, I see."
I remained sprawled on the chair, my body a relaxed whip pouring over the edges but poised to crack and draw blood.
"Wrong." I paused as every head in the room snapped in his direction. "Someone let off some steam on me while I was unconscious from your sucker punch."
I kept my gaze locked on Junker. It was dangerous calling the man out, both for the stealth blow he had landed right after the cage fight and in suggesting his men were doing things without his authorization.
Junker kept me waiting a few uncomfortable seconds before he threw his head back and laughed.
"You know," he said, the mirth evaporating like water on fire as his gaze locked on me, "it's not the person throwing the punch that's the sucker!"
Letting my own smile spread, I stared at Junker with an unblinking gaze. I had grown up with three older brothers, an ornery older sister and a twin. I was good at this game. Better than the club's president.
"You fail to understand what I'm saying," Junker rumbled as he turned, arms flung wide.
He prowled over to the couch where Tribble had taken a seat. Awaiting the fireworks that always followed Junker's theatrics, the prospect sat slack-jawed, malice glittering in his brown eyes. He rested his elbows on his knees, his face thrust forward like a kid at the zoo when it was feeding time for the lions.
Gaze on the ceiling, Junker circled around to the back of the couch. His hands curled atop Tribble's shoulders. A flicker of worry crossed the prospect's face. A second later, Junker had a thick arm wrapped around Tribble's neck.
Junker thrust his chin in my direction.
"You weren't here most of the night, Reaper. So, where were you?"
"Chasing pussy," I answered.
Junker tightened his hold on Tribble's neck.
"Did you get some?"
"Want to smell my dick?"
Tossing the challenge out there, I tried not to think how horrified my mother would be if she ever heard me talking while I was undercover.
Junker laughed as Tribble's face turned splotchy, either by Junker's intent or because he was inexperienced in using the sleeper hold. Moving in closer, he whispered into the prospect's ear.
"You trying to fuck up this job? Just so you can get some kicks in?"
Tribble wheezed out a denial. Junker released him from the hold and returned to the chair where I sat.
"I get it, you're a little pissed. But you knew the rules you were walking into."
"Long as I get paid," I said.
Junker slapped his hands together then rubbed them vigorously.
"We'll all be getting paid sooner than expected, my man."
Staying silent as others in the clubhouse asked what was going on, I let Junker play out the tension. The man was a drama queen. That was part of why he had sucker punched me instead of just putting a bag over my head. The other part was political. One of his club officer's�
��an enforcer—had folded like a chump. Junker had to save a little face for the Steel Tide.
"Come on, Prez," Tribble whined.
Junker feinted a punch in the prospect's direction then unrolled another dramatic bow as he turned toward me.
"Reaper's moving up the date."
"I am?"
"Gotta," Junker answered. "Shit's coming in faster than we thought. No place to store it safely for the extra days."
"When?"
"Be here Wednesday. Buyer better have his cash together and ready to move Thursday."
I rose up from the chair, stretched my arms, rolled my neck, then pulled out my phone.
"I'll call him."
"What the fuck are they playing at?" Maddy asked after I finished outlining the change.
"Might not be playing at anything. I think they are already sitting on the weapons. But the drug shipment coming in early probably puts a financial squeeze on them. They won't have receipts by then from all the businesses they are shaking down."
A small, satisfied smile zipped across my face like a hummingbird. A lot of small businesses in Billings paid the bikers protection money. Between ending the protection racket and stopping the prostitution and drug distribution, the city would be a better, safer community after I busted the club.
A lot of cities would be better…at least for a while. Criminals love a vacuum, probably because it reminds them of their hollow souls.
"I have to check with my militia contact," I said. "Convince them to move the date."
"Even if they agree, they'll get antsy, bring more men," Maddy said. "Same for the MC."
I scratched my head, thought about the budget implications, then thought about the baby still growing inside my sister-in-law.
"Double the size of the tactical teams," I said. "And, listen…you are not to leave the command vehicle."
Maddy snorted before pushing back at my directive.
"I will do what is necessary to keep the team safe."
Yeah, that's what I figured she would say, only with a curse word or two thrown in because she was getting salty now that she was pregnant and hormonal.
"Don't make me break protocol and call Sutton," I threatened.
Maddy cackled, the sound reminding me of Delia when she found something exceptionally hilarious.
"And don't make me tell your mom that you got a dick tattoo and a piercing."
Heat crisped my cheeks as the door to the clubhouse opened and Junker looked out. Spotting me, he threw one arm up in protest at the delay.
"Company?" Maddy asked when I didn't reply.
"No, just Junker being impatient," I answered. "I can't wait to toss him into an orange jumpsuit."
"About the dick tattoo…"
"Yeah, whatever. It's not even directly on the penis. Just promise you'll stay safe. You've got a baby in you, little sister."
She didn't cackle again, but I could hear the smirk in her voice.
"I'll limit myself to flesh wounds on a single limb."
Sighing, I hung up and called my militia contact.
11
Delia
I stopped my electric blue Accord half a football field from the original Turk homestead. Siobhan sat in the front passenger seat, the buttons on her blouse mismatched from quickly changing into civilian clothing after Emerson called and said she couldn't come in uniform.
It was Sunday, the morning after "the morning after." Most of the Turk family was at church. Maddy was working, of course, and Caiden was helping Sutton construct a mobile cell tower for the local search and rescue.
"You should have let me drive," Siobhan said, her gaze scanning the house and outbuildings. "Someone could have followed him."
"I used to drive an ambulance, remember? In fact, I did all my EMT certifications for Montana this spring." Thumbing around my wallet, I pulled out my Emergency Vehicle Operator Certificate and flashed it at Siobhan. "Besides, you are almost literally riding shotgun. I can drive rough, but I can't shoot worth a damn."
Siobhan's hand brushed absently against the 9mm strapped to her hip.
"We should call it 'riding nine,'" I quipped.
I didn't really feel like joking, but my nerves were shot, had been since Friday morning. My subsequent "encounter" with Emerson in the library of his mother's home had ensured the already fried nerve endings wouldn't heal anytime soon.
So I needed to crack a few jokes to keep from going crazy.
"You know what the investigation is about?" Siobhan asked.
Seeing the front door to the house open, I nudged the woman before answering.
"What it's always about. Terrible people doing terrible things. From a law enforcement perspective, I think he or Maddy would have briefed Gamble on a need-to-know basis and—"
"The bullshit would have rolled downhill from there," she sighed as Emerson appeared in the doorway.
He gestured us closer then stepped into the shadows.
"Is this a booty call?" Siobhan asked as I took my foot off the break and let the car roll up to the front porch.
"Anything but that," I said. The rest of my body had a different answer, a nervous response in which desire and anxiety did somersaults around one another.
I hadn't spoken to Emerson since I fled the library. I had talked to Maddy, though, arguing strenuously with my baby sister on whether it was genuinely necessary for me to pull back from the clinic and classes. Certainly, I would leave Caiden in Willow Gap. I could cut my hair, dye it or wear a wig. Get some fake glasses, do my makeup differently, any number of things to throw off anyone looking for me at the clinic that hadn't already seen me in person. Heck, I would rent a different car every day until it was all over if that's what it took.
"Jerk," Siobhan muttered, hand stalling as she went to release her safety belt. "Guess he expects me to wait in the car."
I glanced at the doorway. It was empty again.
"He definitely signaled me to stay put," Siobhan said. "Exponentially increases the likelihood this is a booty call if you ask me."
Gaze locked on the steering wheel, I shook my head. "Stop it, please."
"Look me in the eyes and say the two of you haven't had sex…wait, did it happen before?"
My head whipped toward Siobhan.
The young woman immediately backpedaled.
"Sorry, of course it didn't. Neither of you would do something like that while you were married…heck, he doesn't even act like he knew you in Boston, but he had to, right? I mean, he was Maddy's boss most of that time."
The air inside the little car became desperately thin. I struggled to breathe. Siobhan was fun, sassy, but prone to getting carried away. Worse than that, she had just confirmed my own impression that Emerson had been using me as some kind of stress relief the other night. His true feelings had been amply demonstrated in the three years of silence since he left Boston.
"Nothing," I snapped, "has happened or will ever happen between Emerson and me. I know you love him and Maddy certainly looks up to him, but he is toxic. Whatever this meeting is about, it has to do with his precious investigation."
Siobhan kept her mouth shut, her only reply a slow nod of understanding.
"I'll be back in a few seconds," I finished, throwing open my door. "Be careful out here."
Slamming the door before Siobhan could reply, I stormed up the porch, into the house and slammed that door, too.
"Why the hell did you drag me out here?" I demanded.
Emerson closed his eyes. Given his expression, I imagined he was counting to ten or deploying some other tactic to keep a level head.
"Maddy said you intend to return to the clinic tomorrow."
I spun around, stared at the door, my head jerking side to side. It really was too much—Maddy running to her boss to spill the beans.
"I said nothing definite," I answered after a minute of silence.
"Car rental, wig, hotel room…am I missing anything?"
His droll tone infuriated me.
Once again, the air turned thin. Frustrated anger pinched at my nose, burned my eyes.
"Delia—"
Hearing him take a step toward me, I took two steps toward the door, my fingers curling around the handle.
"I'm not here to fight with you," Emerson said.
He sounded reasonable, contrite even.
Refusing to listen or let him get under my skin again, I turned the knob and jerked on the door.
His hand slammed against the wood, forcing the door shut. His hard body wedged my softer one between him and the wall, his chest weighing heavily against my back, my face all but pushed against the century-old wood.
"Calm the fuck down."
He spoke with a whisper, almost.
It cut me all the same.
I forced my breathing back to normal, relaxed my muscles and unsealed my eyelids.
"Get off of me."
He rolled to the left, his body no longer touching mine but his back firmly against the door, his heels planted forward of his body to leverage his weight and keep me from using the front exit.
"I asked you for a few weeks," he said.
I shook my head. I had explained it to him, explained it to Maddy. Neither of them seemed concerned with my point of view.
"You're asking me to start the entire academic year over."
"Asked," he repeated. "Now I only need this week."
"Maddy—"
"Didn't have confirmation the last time she talked to you," he interrupted. "She still doesn't. I'm telling you first."
I stepped back, turned away, started to pace.
"Next Monday," he told me. "Everything should be settled enough you can go back then."
Was that a tone of entreaty I detected?
Nope, couldn't be. This was Emerson, after all.
He moved away from the door, stopped within arm's reach of where I kept my face turned from him.
"Delia, don't let what happened between us—"