by Nicole James
I’m in the way, and move back while they work at cleaning it and stitching it up.
The doctor glances back at me, and asks, “You mind giving us the room, sir?”
I look at Kami.
“I’m okay,” she says.
I’ve got her purse under my arm, and I don’t want to leave her, but my phone goes off with a text. “All right. I’ll be right outside.”
I’m out there almost forty-five minutes when two cops show up. One moves toward the emergency bays and the other approaches me.
“Can I see some ID?”
What the fuck? I sigh, and pull out my wallet, handing it over. “What’s the problem?”
He lifts his chin to a chair. “You just sit down and shut up until I tell you, understand?”
I drop in the chair, knowing he’s got nothing on me.
The two officers confer and come to stand in front of me. “Girl says she’s your wife.” He lifts his chin to the purse. “Says the license is in her bag.”
“Yeah, so?”
“The hospital staff was concerned this might be a case of abuse or trafficking, especially considering the girl’s age on her ID.”
“It’s a fucking puncture wound.”
“Yeah, maybe you stabbed her with an ice pick or something.”
“Are you fucking serious with this shit?”
“Can you prove she’s your wife?”
I dig in the bag and pass over the folded up license. They examine it.
“Guess she’s tellin’ the truth,” one says to the other. “Yep. Judge Barlow signed it, just like she said.”
The other passes it back, mumbling to his partner. “We got nothing on him. She claims it was an accident.”
“All right. You’re free to go, but she comes back with anymore accidents, and I’ll haul your ass in so fast your head will spin, understand?”
I take the license and go find my wife.
Twenty minutes later, with a prescription for painkillers in hand, I load Kami back in the truck.
She looks over at me. “Everything okay?”
I jam the truck in gear. It’s now almost 1am, and Centerfolds closes in ten minutes. I’ve still got to haul ass back to Uprising. “Just peachy. You okay hangin’ in the truck while I make the rest of my pickups?”
“Sure. I’m fine.”
I read the script. I don’t have time to fill it, so I dig in the glove box and come up with a bottle of the same shit. I shake one out. “Here, take this.”
She pops it in her mouth and grabs the water bottle from the console and chugs it down. Complete trust in what I give her. It makes my heart swell that she doesn’t question what’s in the bottle, knowing I’ll never hurt her or give her something that would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kami—
Saint climbs out of the truck, and slips his cut back on, then he leads me into the strip club, and I’m so excited I get to finally see the inside.
We walk through the door, and my excitement deflates as I realize the club is closing and the shows are over and the lights are turned up. Still, at least I get to see the interior. There’s a main stage and another smaller stage, and also some tables that look like the girls must dance on top of them. I barely get a moment to take it all in before Saint is pulling me toward the bar on the right.
There are a couple of girls counting out their money down on the other end.
Saint leans and talks to the woman behind the bar, cleaning up. “Where’s Aspen?”
She smiles at him and jerks her head. “Back in the office.”
“Do me a favor and keep an eye on my girl.”
My insides melt a little when he calls me that.
She glances to me and winks. “Sure thing, hon.”
Saint points at me. “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”
Then he disappears down a long hall toward the back.
“Can I get you anything, doll?” The woman behind the bar comes and leans toward me.
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
“So, you’re with Saint, huh?”
I nod, my fingers fidgeting, and damned if I forgot about the ring on my finger. She spots it right off and a finely sculpted brow arcs up.
“I see.”
“Are you a stripper?” I blurt out, nervous as hell.
“Used to be. Now I just pour drinks. Why? You interested in a job?”
My eyes must get huge, because she chuckles. “Um, no.”
She cocks her head. “You sure? Pays damn good money, and with a body like yours, you’d do well.” She points to a beautiful redhead at the other end of the bar counting out a stack of ones. “Ruby makes a killing, don’t you Ruby?”
The woman looks over and smiles.
“What’d you rake in tonight, hon?”
Ruby finishes counting. “Twelve”
“Hundred?” I squeak out, and she nods.
“I had a good night. I have several regulars and they knew it was my birthday today.”
“Really? Mine was this week, too.”
She smiles, and sweeps me with her gaze. “And how old did you turn, sweetie?”
“Eighteen.”
She chuckles and looks to the bartender. “God, to be eighteen again, huh?”
Saint returns and grabs my hand. “Come on.”
I slip off the barstool, and he chin lifts to the woman. “Thanks, babe.”
“You better keep her clear of here, Saint. Aspen might try to recruit her, she’s always lookin’ for fresh talent.”
“Well, she ain’t getting this one.”
I fast walk to keep up with him as we head out and back to the truck. He loads me in, and goes around to the driver’s side, lays the deposit bag on the floor by my feet and starts the engine.
“Fuck.”
I look over at him curiously.
“Hang tight here a minute, Kami. I’ve forgot something.”
I nod and he hops back out, slamming the door. It’s hot in the truck and I can’t figure out how to work the fancy dash, so I give up and roll the window down. It’s a nice night out, and I lay my head back on the headrest, and yawn.
A moment later I sense movement out my window, and open my eyes to see a gun pointed at me. The man is masked, and I see movement behind him and know he’s not alone; there are at least two more in a car.
“Give me the fucking money.”
I freeze, like in a scary nightmare when you can’t move. I can’t even find my voice. I stare at the gun. It’s less than two feet from my face. I start shaking.
He yanks the door open, and punches my face. “Where is it?”
I point at my feet, shaking, and he reaches in and grabs it. I think he’s about to take off running, but he looks at me and grabs toward my throat. I think he’s about to strangle me, but he goes for my mother’s diamond necklace, yanking it right off my neck.
He runs to the car, jumps into the backseat and the car peels out. I lean forward and look, trying to remember everything about it.
A dark green four door that said Ford LTD on the back with a WDXX La Diablo bumper sticker.
I’m pissed I didn’t think to pull my phone out and take a picture.
I put a hand to my cheekbone, the pain of his punch radiating out, and I rock. I need to find Saint, but I’m terrified to leave the truck. Suddenly, the driver’s door opens, and I scream.
“What the fuck, babe?”
“Oh my God. You scared the crap out of me. They just stole the money and my necklace.”
“What?” He must think I’m joking.
“There were three of them. They took off in a Ford LTD. It was green, there was something covering the license plate, but it had a radio station bumper sticker that read WDXX.”
He stares at me a moment like he’s trying to decide if I’m playing a practical joke. Then his eyes drop to where I’m holding my face, and he dives for the floorboard, frantically searching for the deposit bag. “Where’s the fuc
king money?”
“I just told you. This guy with a ski mask on stuck a gun in my face. He knew, Saint. He knew there was a bag of money in the truck. How would he know?”
“I don’t know. Fuck!” He slams a fist on the steering wheel, and I jump and start crying. He pulls me in his arms. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He pushes me back to look at my face. “Let me see. What happened? Did he hit you?”
I nod, tears spilling down my cheeks.
He holds me tight, stroking my hair. “I should never have left you out here alone. Christ, you could have been killed.”
“I’m okay.”
“This is fucking bad, Kami. So fucking bad. If I don’t get that money back, I’m dead.”
I pull back and stare at him, not comprehending what he’s saying. “What?”
He shakes his head. “Which way did they head?”
“Back toward the interstate I think. I don’t know.”
“I need to go back inside and check the security footage. Come on.”
He comes around and pulls me from the truck and we run inside the building.
An hour later, we’re back at the cottage. Saint’s sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“I’m so fucked.”
“How much do you need?”
“The money from Centerfolds, together with the other amounts I’d already picked up that night totaled almost thirty grand. Another week from now this wouldn’t have been a problem. I could have covered it. I’ve got some money coming into my account soon, but it hasn’t cleared the bank yet. Fuck!”
“I have jewelry I could sell. My mother said Teller & Sons in Atlanta would give me a fair price and—”
“Babe. That cash deposit has got to be in the bank first thing Monday. That jewelry store probably won’t be open on Sunday, and even if you had pieces worth that amount, they’d need management approval, then they’d give you a big check and I’d never get it converted back to cash in time, least not in any way were it wouldn’t get back to the club. I appreciate the offer though.” He goes back to staring at the floor.
“That radio station—WDXX? I searched it on my phone. It’s a station out of Birmingham, Alabama. You should call Aspen.”
He looks up at me. “What?”
“She’s the manager of the strip club, right?”
“Yeah. I already went over the security footage.”
“Did you tell her what happened?”
“Fuck no. She’s North’s ol’ lady. You think I want this shit getting back to him and the club? No way. I’ve just got to get that fucking money back.”
“Think, Saint. They knew that money was in the truck. They didn’t just happen to be there. It was planned. Who in the club would give information like that? The girl at the bar said Aspen was always looking for fresh talent. Maybe she has some new dancers and maybe one of them has a connection to Birmingham.”
He surges to his feet, pacing and thinking. “Or this was all part of some fucking test by the club.”
“Now you’re just paranoid, sweetie. They wouldn’t do that to you.”
He stares at me.
I cock a brow. “Would they?”
“I don’t fucking know. Hell, I guess not. They’re all in Ohio on some fucking club business.” He paces some more. “I’ve got until the banks open on Monday to get that money back, that’s all I know.”
“Should we call the police?”
“Fuck no. The MC never, and I mean never calls the law.”
“But my necklace…”
“I’ve got a hell of a lot bigger problems right now than your necklace, babe. I’m sorry.”
“So are you going to call Crow or Mako? Would they talk?”
He runs his hands through his hair, and pauses. He digs in the inside pocket of his cut and pulls out a worn business card. “Birmingham. I know who to call. And if I can get a lead from Aspen, this might give us a chance.”
He pulls his phone out and calls her, putting it on speaker so I can hear.
“Hey, Aspen. It’s Saint. Yeah, sorry to bother you. Got a question. You got any new hires that have a connection to Birmingham?”
“Well, there’s Salome. She started a month ago. I know she said she has a brother in Alabama somewhere.”
“Did you say Salami? Like the shit you put on sandwiches?”
She chuckles. “No, not Salami, Salome. Pronounced SAHL-oh-may. Got it?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Hey, can you text me a picture of her?”
“Something up?”
“No, just had a friend said he knew our latest stripper from Birmingham. Trying to figure out who she is.”
She yawns. “She’s not up on the website yet, but I think North had them do some media shots with her. I’ll pull one and send it to you.”
“Did she work tonight? Was she still there when I came by?”
“Yes, she worked. I think I saw her go out the back door when you were standing in my office. Why?”
“Nothing. Thanks, darlin’. Sorry to disturb you.”
“I’ll send the picture now so I don’t forget, just give me a minute.”
He disconnects and paces while we wait. Five long minutes later, the text comes in. I peer over his shoulder at the image.
“Pretty girl.”
He starts to move to the door. “Stay here. I’ll call you when I get to Birmingham.”
“You’re not going without me.” I panic.
He turns back. “Yeah, I am, babe.”
“But, I’m your witness. You have to take me with you! And besides, they took my necklace, too. I’m in this, Saint, just as much as you.”
“Kami—”
“And what if they know where you live and come while you’re gone, thinking there’s more here?”
His jaw ticks, and he blows out a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. Maybe you are safer with me. Come on, short cake.”
I nod, excitedly. “Give me one second.” I grab a change of clothes and an extra KOC T-shirt from Saint’s drawer, just in case, stuffing them into a big shoulder bag. On the way out the kitchen, I shove some drinks and snacks in too.
He steps in front of me, grabbing my arm. “This is not some cross-country adventure or some fun road trip, understand?”
“Understand.”
He stalks out the door.
I smile, grab a jacket and follow after him. “Are we taking the bike?”
“No, the truck. The less attention we attract the better. If I ride in, I’ve got to have my colors on, and Alabama is not our territory.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kami—
Saint heads through Birmingham, following his navigation directions west from downtown. Exiting the interstate, he drives us into the poor neighborhoods that border an old steel plant. We drive down several side streets, finally coming to an old clapboard house that sits, looming large, on a big corner lot. Next to it is an empty lot with overgrown weeds. The two properties consume the entire short block. Across the street is a burned out house, and next to that, an abandoned one.
“Not the best neighborhood, huh?” I whisper.
“I’m sure their club likes it this way. Fewer people to mess with them.” Saint stares past me to the house, scanning it.
The front yard is overgrown, the sides overrun with tall bamboo and Kudzu vines. A waist-high chain-link fence surrounds the front yard with a rusty gate that looks like no one ever uses. The metal mailbox out on the street is painted black with Evil Dead MC stenciled in white across it.
“Look up there.” I tap on the glass. Up on the front porch in a chair by the door sits a skeleton holding a scythe like some leftover Halloween decoration, except for the Evil Dead support T-shirt it wears.
“Let’s go around to the back.”
“There’s a back?”
“I hope so.”
Saint finds an alley, and turns down it. A six-foot privacy fence surrounds the back of the clubhouse. On the oth
er side of the alley is a junkyard. He stops the truck at a double wooden gate with the club name painted top-rocker style across it.
Dawn is just beginning to lighten the horizon when we arrive. Saint texted his contact before we left Uprising, so they’re supposed to be expecting us, but there’s no activity.
I look toward the gate. “Who are these guys, anyway?”
“Nobody you want to piss off. Trust me. Wait here.” He opens his door, and I quickly undo my seat belt. There’s no way in hell I’m waiting in the truck again.
“Babe, I just need a minute. Wait here.”
“No.”
“All right. You can come. But I saw you slide my old pocketknife in your boot. Hand it over.” He holds his hand out. Damn, I thought I’d been so sneaky when I took it from the glove box and stashed it while he was getting gas. He waggles his fingers. “Babe, the Evil Dead pat us down and find it, we’re goin’ no place good.”
I hand it over.
We exit the truck about the same time someone opens the gate. Saint has a firm grasp on my hand, keeping me behind him and blocking me with his body.
“You Saint?” the man asks.
“Yeah.”
“Follow me.” The guy turns, and I see the word prospect on the back of his cut. We cross a large yard and gravel parking area. A line of about half a dozen bikes sits off to the side. I wasn’t expecting there to be so many people here this early in the morning. I wonder if they had a party here last night.
A burn barrel smolders, pale gray smoke rising up into the morning light. A dewy mist hangs over the grass.
We’re led into the back door of the house and into a large central room with a bar and a pool table. We follow the man across the room and down a hall. He pauses and knocks on a door.
“Come in,” a voice yells out.
The prospect opens the door and steps back. I follow Saint inside what appears to be an office. A good-looking man sits behind a desk; another stands to the side with his arms folded, leaning against a credenza. Two more guys sit before the desk. All heads turns as we enter.
The man behind the desk stands. “Saint. Come on in.”
“Shades, Ghost, Gentlemen. Thanks for agreeing to see us.”