by KB Winters
“And?”
“And what, Charlie? I don’t have any intel to pass on to you, because as you know, I wasn’t there as a representative of the Rhymer family.”
“I know,” he sighed. “But anything you do know might help me keep you out of harm’s way.”
“You mean it might help you protect your MC, right?” He looked blindsided by my words. “You ask what you need to know, and I’ll decide if I can answer or not, but you don’t need to pretend you want to know to help me. Okay?”
He fingered his glass, leaving a trail of fingerprints on the condensation coating it like a fog. “It’s true, though,” he said quietly. “I do want to help you.” His words combined with that beautiful face had probably tricked more than a few girls into bad decisions, but not this one.
“Right,” I said. That sharp answer should let him know I wasn’t the pushover he seemed to think I was.
The corners of his lips tipped up into a bemused grin. “Okay. How many Jacks are there?”
“Don’t know. I mostly dealt with Roadkill who handles drugs and Blade, who’s the president and oversees the girls and the fucking operation.”
“That’s all you know?”
I refused to tell him about Tits, and her connection to Dealio, so I shrugged. “There’s no time to stop and ask for gang affiliation during a gangbang.”
“How many girls do they have?”
“No clue.” It wasn’t my responsibility to help him get rid of the competition, and I didn’t care who won this sick fight, anyway.
“Come on, Savannah. I’m just trying to figure out how big they are, how strong, and how far their reach goes.” He opened his mouth to say more and snapped it shut with a playful grin when I pointed at him.
“I don’t know. There was one girl in each room on the other side of mine at the motel and sometimes there were three girls at the same time, but I was too high and it was too dark to know if they were always the same girls or not.”
This shit was the last thing I wanted to talk about, especially with him. Especially now that I was free, and that life was behind me.
He nodded, thoughtful. “You know anything about guns or other business interests?”
“Other than the fucking and the drugs, I don’t know anything about those pricks. That’s all you’re getting from me because I’m done talking.”
“Fine. And thank you, Savannah. Now eat up, you’re looking a little on the thin side.”
“Wow, charming too? No wonder those Bitches are so rabid to become your old lady.”
Charlie blinked and sat up a little taller, and I realized my mistake. “So something did happen?”
“It’s over and done with, Charlie. No need to get your tighty whiteys in a bunch.”
“Savannah,” he growled, and yeah, it might have been a little bit sexy. Just a tiny bit.
“I’m serious. They want a piece of you and to move up in the big bad biker world. I won’t begrudge them that opportunity.”
“There is no opportunity, first of all. And second, they don’t get to dictate who I choose to welcome into my clubhouse.”
“Even if you forget about your welcomed guest?” He shook his head and for a moment I thought I saw remorse flash in his eyes. “How was the wedding?” I asked with about as much interest as I had in a second piece of pizza.
“It was fine,” he growled. “Too much fucking whiskey, and I didn’t forget about you. I just forgot you weren’t here.”
“Wow, you really are a charmer. First an ass backwards compliment and then outright forgetting me. This drug diet must be paying off.”
I laughed. Laughing at nothing was better than anything I’d done over the past few years.
So yeah, I laughed.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlie
Thank fuck. The wedding activities were long over and the Opey Reckless Bastards were safely back on their ranch in Texas. I sat at the head of the table, looking down at Lady Mayhem, ready to lead Church for the first time as Prez of this MC. I was nervous. Fucking nervous and there was no real reason why.
“How you doin’, Charlie?” My uncle and MC VP, Golden Boy smiled at me as he handed me a cigarette. “Butterflies?”
Tate had been through more shit than any of us could imagine, and when he gave me shit, I knew he had the best intentions. Even though he was my uncle, I was still a grown ass man.
“What am I, twelve? No butterflies, just got some shit on my mind, and I need to talk to my VP about it.”
Golden Boy nodded and took a long pull off his cigarette, dropping into the heavy leather seat at my right side, reserved for the VP.
“Okay, I’m listening.” He ran one hand through his long hair that was more silver than gold these days, but it was still thick and long as fuck.
I took another drag on my cigarette, nodded, and then told him about finding Savannah and keeping her hidden for the past week.
“I know I can’t keep her locked up forever, but I can’t send her back to that shit.”
Tate let out a long breath and took a deep pull from the cigarette before letting it out on a weary exhale.
“Shit, Charlie, when you go, you go big, don’tcha?”
I flashed a smile and shrugged. “It just kind of happened.”
“I get that, but you can’t keep a Black Jack loyalist around and certainly not a fucking Rhymer.”
I heard his words, the truth and sincerity in them, but I also heard something else. “What, exactly, can’t the Prez do?”
Golden Boy held up his hands. “I’m not questioning your position or authority, Charlie. I’m just telling you it’s a bad fucking idea. Besides, how do you know this isn’t all some elaborate ruse? Maybe the Jacks are being smart for once and playing the long game.”
I barked out a laugh and flicked my cigarette into the big metal ashtray in the center of the table. “I found her bruised, bloody, and beaten on the side of the road. It’s not a ruse. If it is, it’s a fucking terrible one.”
“Whatever you say.” Golden Boy shrugged off his concern, but his eyes were filled with worry and worse, doubt. When the club meeting began, I had to present Savannah Rhymer as new business because that was just how it was. My men had made their feelings clear.
“Send that bitch back to where she came from.” That was Stitch’s position, plain and simple, and he wasn’t alone in that opinion.
“What if she’s giving them intel on the Bastards business?” Jameson was a thinker, an intellectual who’s mind was always five steps ahead.
But it didn’t stop me from glaring at my own damn brother. “What the fuck kind of club business do you think I’ve been sharing with her?”
Jameson’s mouth opened and shut a few times before he shrugged and fell back against his chair. “I’m not saying that.”
I knew that, but it pissed me off that everyone felt so fucking free to criticize me and tell me how I was already failing as Prez.
“She’s safe, and she’s doesn’t know shit about our business, but I won’t send her back to that hell. I can’t.”
My dad nodded and did his quiet, thoughtful thing. “Okay, we all get that. We do.” Max looked around the room until every man at the table, even the second generation Bastards, like Dallas and Wilder, Jag’s oldest kid, nodded their agreement.
“But what the fuck makes her so special? She had no problem with her father and brother trafficking girls. Hell, she clearly doesn’t even have a problem with that fucking Mueller doing it.”
“Yeah well, it’s all fucking different until it’s you, isn’t it?” I didn’t want to go there, but it was important. “You mean you wouldn’t have a problem if Mom wanted to work one of the Bungalows? Or Moon? Or Teddy?”
Anger erupted around the room, just as I knew it would. “That’s not the same, Charlie, and you know it,” Max replied.
“It’s the same to me. And I know it’s hypocritical, but I won’t do that to her. I’m not asking your permission.
I’ll keep her safe, on my own time, so accept it. Or don’t. It’s done.”
Wilder nodded and spoke up. He was a few years younger than me, but was smart as fuck, tough as nails, and lacked all social skills. “Okay, no permission, but just let me run another check on her just to make sure she’s no threat, yeah?”
I nodded because it was the smart move. “Sure. Come to me first with what you find.”
“Got it, Boss.” Wilder nodded and buried his head in his tablet, probably making notes of who and where to hack to find the information he needed, just like his dad beside him did.
I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear the room of the tension that still hung in the air. “All right. Moving on to new club business.”
I looked around to see if anyone would speak. When everyone but Cross avoided my gaze, I nodded, the signal to move on.
“All right. We all need to be out in pairs, always together for a while. And we need to do more frequent checks on the Bungalows. After that shit Rhymer and the Jacks pulled at Virgil’s bachelor party, we need to be vigilant.”
Golden Boy raised his hand in agreement beside me. “What the fuck was he thinking, charging into an Ashby-owned business like that?” He huffed out a laugh. “Fucker must’ve had a death wish or something.”
“Yeah, Jasper took care of that wish. No more Brendan Rhymer.”
Since not all the Reckless Bastards had gone to the bachelor party, it was news to them and cheers went up around the table.
“No shit?” Dallas Junior’s eyes widened in surprise.
“No shit,” I replied with a satisfied smile. “Brendan Rhymer is one less thing the club has to worry about.”
“You think this will be the end of the Jacks?”
I looked at Stitch and shrugged. “Fuck no. Those fuckers are scrappy. They’re survivors and the ones not in jail yet, are now on Ronan Rhymer’s payroll, at least according to Jasper. I still can’t fully trust Ashby’s intel, but for now, I have no choice until we can confirm it.”
Golden Boy sighed beside me, his gaze worried as he and Max did the silent brother communication thing. Then he turned to me as if they’d decided he’d be the spokesperson.
“That doesn’t seem like too big of a coincidence to you? Old man Rhymer is now working with the men who allegedly kidnapped his daughter and whored her out?”
“Nah. If you would’ve seen her, you’d know the truth. I’m sure Ma told you about Sunday.”
Max nodded. “She did.”
“Then you know that no one would go through that just to pull off some long con.” Max nodded again, but it was reluctant.
“Look,” I said, realizing I was in salesman mode, “the old man made no effort to find her. As far as Savannah is concerned, she’s on her own.”
Cross stared at me with no judgment. “Some of the bitches overheard you fighting with her, said she just wants money to get out of town. Or get high. Why don’t you let her?” But his tone conveyed he knew there was more to it than that. Or was it my imagination? Learning how to read the room the way the Prez had to.
I explained, “I’ve been trying to get some info out of her. About the Jacks, Crusaders, her own fucking father. But withdrawal has been a motherfucker, so she’s less than cooperative. She’s pissed off and hurt about being forgotten about. Maybe a little bit of kindness will make her open up about The Crusaders and Mueller, anything that will help us fight these motherfuckers.”
Cross nodded. “Good plan.”
I didn’t need his approval, but having it gave me a confidence boost I didn’t realize I needed. “Yeah, thanks. Any other business?”
No one spoke up, so I adjourned the meeting, eager to get back to check on Savannah. I hadn’t planned on using her for information, but now that I said it out loud, it was all I could think about. She could use some help, maybe a friend, and I could be that friend in exchange for some intel.
The room emptied quickly. Most of the guys were eager to get home to their women or businesses, and others were eager to get the party started as early as possible. I was the last one out, locking the sacred door behind me.
Outside, I chatted with some of my men before we put our helmets on and headed out. Jameson waited for me beside my bike. “You sure you know what you’re doing, bro?” His cool gray stare tried to see through my blank stare.
“No, I’m not sure, Jamie, but what else can I do? You all don’t get it because you just hear that she’s Savannah Rhymer and remember all the horrible shit that goes along with that. But all I saw was a woman in need, even before I realized who she was.”
“And this isn’t about sex?”
I glared at my kid brother, and he held his hands up defensively, laughing. “I had to ask. We’ve all done some crazy shit in the name of good pussy.”
I couldn’t deny that. “I wouldn’t put the MC at risk over pussy, Jamie.” It pissed me off that my own damn brother thought that was a possibility. “She’s been through hell, man. Fucked nonstop against her will. Pumped full of drugs so she wouldn’t put up a struggle as three or four guys fucked her. At once. I mean, I know some chicks like that shit, but she had no choice. How can I not help her?”
Jameson nodded. “Isn’t that what old man Rhymer and Mueller do? Steal girls for their pervert friends? Against their will?”
I ran a hand through my hair, letting out my frustration on a long slow breath. “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to wrap my head around this.”
I pulled a cigarette out of my jacket pocket and lit it. I took a drag and blew the smoke out. Not helping.
“You know Jamie, we have fucking whore houses, but those girls are all clean, legit, and love what they do. I’m okay with that. If a woman wants to fuck for money, more power to her. But forcing someone to get high and fuck twenty-four-seven is wrong. No matter who does it.”
“I hear ya, bro. Makes me sick that someone who calls himself a man would do that to anyone.”
“Yeah, Jamie. It is wrong. And we have to stop those fuckers. I’m hoping I can get some intel from her. Just give me the chance.”
“You got it. Ma says she’s a looker, even though she’s too skinny and beat up.”
Of course, Ma did. “Ma just likes her because she’s a smart ass.”
He stared at me for a long time, nodding before a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “You’re a good man, Charlie. I hope you never forget that. Ever.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular fucking Eagle Scout.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but maybe just a do-gooder.” Jameson laughed when I flipped him off. “If you think helping her is the right thing, I support it. You can count on me to back you up.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
He shrugged, still uncomfortable with praise for some reason. “What are brothers for?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Dick,” he murmured with a smile, flipping me off one last time before he jumped on his bike and rode away, giving me a lot to think about.
Too much to think about.
The only thing that would help was a long ride with the wind at my back.
Chapter Eighteen
Savannah
I should have felt better, but I didn’t. Charlie had eased up on keeping me locked in the guestroom all day long. But roaming the small two-story home by myself after he left to do whatever bikers did only highlighted my loneliness. And boredom.
All the doors and windows had alarms that sent notifications to Charlie’s cell if I tried to break out, and I didn’t know the code. I couldn’t make a daylight escape, even if I had some place to go and money to get there.
I could stretch my legs and snoop, but the house wasn’t big enough to do much walking, and Charlie’s house held no big secrets. No scraps of lace hidden in a secret drawer, no sex dungeons, no guns that I could see, either. Just a room filled with exercise equipment, my sparsely decorated guest room, and Charlie’s room
, which looked lived-in, though just barely.
He kept whatever secrets he might have well hidden.
Hence the boredom. The mind-numbing boredom had me crawling up the walls even though I was over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. I still wanted to get high, but my body was coming through the other side of the sickness, which only increased my desire to be far away from this city and all the shit that went along with it.
A noise sounded outside, and I shrugged it off at first, thinking maybe my brain was conjuring up drama for the sake of entertainment. But over the sound of me whipping up eggs to scramble, I heard a car door, and it wasn’t from the neighbors because everyone in this neighborhood worked during the day. My heart was already racing as I tip-toed across the living room and peeked out of the front blinds to see two men, both wearing Black Jacks patches on their leather vests, messing with one of the cars parked in Charlie’s driveway.
I froze as flames licked at the car from the inside seconds after the guys hopped on their bikes and rode away. Moments later, a loud explosion sounded, and I fell to the floor, curling up in the fetal position and unsure what to do.
Call the police. It wasn’t my first instinct, but it seemed like something people in this neighborhood would do when a car exploded. Charlie’s house had no landline anywhere, and I didn’t have any way to call the police. Or Charlie.
Without thinking, I pulled open the window to shout, hoping there was someone on the block who could come to my aid. I was met with a loud screeching alarm for my efforts.
The sound was so fucking loud, all I could do was cover my ears and hope it would go away. It didn’t. In fact, the damn thing seemed to get louder. It was so damn loud I couldn’t think straight except to go to the kitchen and grab a knife for protection.
Those Black Jacks patches were real. And I needed to be able to protect myself. I couldn’t count on Charlie to provide me with an actual weapon, but if they found a way inside, I wouldn’t die without a fight.