“Well, those boys are gonna be starving. Let’s go ahead and get some more beer on ice and get those bowls filled.”
“Start with the boys on guard duty,” I add, reveling in the comfort that comes from working as a team.
Ruth offers a pleased flash, almost a smile, but not quite.
When we’re finally alone, she’s quickly at my side. Her throat low and strained. “Where’s your sister?” She asks.
I shake my head, remembering our heated, one-sided pep talk that took place in the hallway. “She must be in her room. I’m not sure. Are you going to finish telling us what you were trying to warn us about? That was some real vague shit.”
“Just promise me you’ll watch out for each other. This is serious. I don’t care what goes on around you, no excuse. You two are sisters. You’re going to need to have each other’s backs. Promise?”
“Ok.”
She grabs my hands, holding them in hers. “No, I want you to promise me. Say the words.”
“Shit, I promise.” A ball of emotion bobs in my throat. I stare into her tired eyes, still red and puffy. “Ok, this is me promising you that I will keep Jessa safe. There, happy?”
She draws in a deep lungful of air. She gives a curt nod as she exhales.
Bootsteps echo through the forty-two hundred square foot house. Followed by a waif of thick trail of cigarettes and pot. Some of the brothers seek out female companionship, others attack huge bowls of grub.
There’s no sign of Ronin or Pop. The notion sends me on a mission to find Wizard to see if he’s still in church. I’m calmed to find him tossing back a row of shots from a bottle of unmarked liquor in front of a group of drunken spectators.
However, the missing duo causes my insides to knot, which is only worsened by the sight of Ronin barreling out from the office they now use as the chapel.
His tortured glance searches for me in the sea of faces flooding the spacious kitchen.
He shakes his head, scrubbing his bearded cheek.
I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder. I feel Ruth’s heavy gaze penetrating my back as I pass Pop, his face contorted and boiling with rage, on my way to turn the corner, following Ronin out the back door.
Why do I feel like I’m walking past one lion’s den and right into another?
CHAPTER TWELVE
(Ronin)
Hercules seethes as his gigantic ham fists pummel the heap of flesh, now stripped of his King’s cut. He and his small crew never stood a chance. Clint is resting his hands on his knees, leaning against the rancid dumpster, struggling to catch his breath.
Troy is mopping the butt end of his flashlight across his jeans, cleansing away the smudged blood of the dead King lying at his feet.
“Enough,” I demand, drawing Herc back to reality. For being a humongous teddy bear, the Enforcer is ruthless when it comes to protecting his club. He becomes another kind of bear altogether. The kind that will use his teeth to rip your head from your shoulders and floss with your dangling sinew when he’s done. “Finish it.”
Herc snaps his head upright before stepping backwards and unloading his 9mm, equipped with a suppressor, into the sack of fat’s caving chest.
Clint staggers toward me.
Surrounded by bodies, I take inventory of the damage. We’ve got a few bumps and bruises, but we’re whole.
“You know what to do,” I command.
The big brute offers his signature nod, his broad torso still heaving with adrenaline.
“Troy, you stay and help Herc with disposal. You’ve got the rally point?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t take long.” Our newest member shoves his long strands of blonde hair back from his face.
“Get it done.” I look over to Clint. “Can you ride?”
He touches his side, pulling back red tinged fingertips. “It’ll wait. The arms are good.”
“Alright then, let’s roll.” I straddle my sled and zigzag out of the pitch-black alley, waiting to switch on my headlight. Clint is swift on my wheels. We leave Herc to and Troy to finish up the dirty work.
Seven Pistol Kings put down like the rabid dogs they were.
We slip in and out of Jericho without a trace. The plan to take down the Kings after their routine escapade at the local titty bar went off without a hitch. Now, we have to start getting creative. They won’t make it so easy next time.
After riding for a couple of hours, Clint and I pull off the highway. We find the twenty-four-hour coffee shop to wait on the others.
“Two coffees,” I bark at the visibly tired waitress.
She sighs and turns to walk away, hurt in her vein thread eyes.
“Hey,” Clint stops her. “Sorry, hun. He’s had a long day.”
“Yeah, haven’t we all,” she utters, dripping with annoyed sarcasm.
Clint shoots a glower at me before looking back to the woman. “Can we get a couple of plates? Eggs, bacon, sausage, the works.” He shoves a twenty across the booth. “And this is for you, darlin. Sorry about my friend here.”
She beams a genuine, toothy smile. Probably the first, and last, of her miserable shift.
“No worries,” she says and sashays away, tucking the worn bill into her bra.
“Don’t start.”
He throws his hands up, as if to signal a surrender. “I ain’t starting shit, man.”
“Good,” I mumble, savoring the hot liquid that the now peppy waitress drops off on her way to fill an abundant supply of half empty salt and pepper shakers.
“How do you think the other crew’s holding up?”
I pull air in through my nostrils, filling my weighty chest. I wasn’t on board with the divided plan in the first place.
I shrug. “No clue. I haven’t heard from anyone since splitting off on the other side of the mountain.”
“Some of the guys are pissed about Jesse taking Wizard under his wing.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard some grumbling.”
“How do you feel about it?” My best friend stares at me, already knowing the answer.
I stare at him, my brother, questioning whether to rock that boat or not. I finally bite the bullet. “I don’t know. How do you feel about your new rank and being kept in the fucking dark? As the new Sargent at Arms don’t you think you should be in on what’s going down? Shit. Stoner’s the new Road Captain and Jesse’s got him babysitting the females with Billy and Duke.”
“I hear what you’re saying.” He pauses, bestowing a wink on the server as she places full, steaming platters of breakfast food. The bacon is still sizzling on the plate. “We’re not blind. Everyone can see things are really fucked up. Jesse’s off doing his own thing. Wizard is barely wet behind the ears. Can’t hide the shit with Ruth either. Does Jolene have any idea about that?”
“I’m probably not the best person to ask.” I replay the conversation she and I shared in the backyard of a Nevada mansion only sixteen hours earlier.
“Leave it alone, Jo. I’m not going to tell you again.” I pump my fists, releasing blood to my tingling fingertips. My heart works overtime to siphon blood through my feverish veins.
Her wounded gaze guts me like a dull knife filleting a fish.
“Fine, don’t talk to me about it, but remember, when shit goes south, I tried. One of us fucking tried. You’re not the only one in the middle of a war zone. We’re all living this hell with you. We’re all dealing with loss and love and battle, whether you see it or not. I know you’re carrying around everyone’s burdens, hunting Zombie, keeping everyone safe. I get it, but that’s no excuse. So, go ahead and shut me out, but just so you know, I fucking tried.”
I stare after her as she turns her back on me and marches up the back steps. Her lean, beautiful legs carrying her away with purpose. Away from me.
She slams the door behind her, never looking back.
When I left, she had been sleeping after a long night of dealing with Jessa. After that bullshit, I didn’t have the heart to wake her. Or maybe, I want
ed to avoid another knock down drag out. It seems like we’re only getting along when we’re fucking or snoring.
“Shit man, sorry to hear there’s trouble in paradise.”
“Ah, no big deal.” I play it off, sopping up the last bit of egg yolk with a slice of burnt toast. “It’ll work itself out.” Even I don’t believe the words.
“Anything else you wanna share?”
I scratch my furry jaw. “Just to watch your back. Until that cocksucker Zombie is dead, I’m worried some of our loyalties might be fucked up.” The declaration escapes before I have a chance to weigh my words.
Relief invades my core when Clint simply nods.
He sees it.
The familiar rumble of the bikes catches my attention. They don’t bother to park, waiting outside.
I throw another couple of twenties on the table and slide out of the booth. “Looks like the boys are ready to go.”
“Abandoning me so soon, fellas?”
Clint smiles at the waitress. “Time to hit the road. You have a good night, darlin.”
She gawks after him, as most women do after spending ten seconds in Clint’s company.
She nods. I respond. The task has been handled. It’s time to head back and settle up with the rest of the club. Before leaving, I punch the button for Jesse’s contact for the sixth time since leaving Reno.
Same fucking message. His voicemail box is full.
“Let’s roll.”
I let the tremors from the rubber hitting the pavement lull my tense muscles. It’s a real mind bender to know the brothers see the shift taking place. It means there really is something going on and I’m not just making shit up in my head.
I have to talk to Jolene. Make things right. I can’t fucking lose her.
Halfway across the mountain ridge, my phone rattles in my pocket. Not wanting to miss a call from the Prez, I throw my fist up, indicating to my followers that I’m stopping.
I tug the cell from my jacket.
Private call.
“Ronin,” I answer, expecting to hear Jesse’s scratchy voice.
“Well, if it isn’t the golden boy himself.” The man on the other end speaks low and calculated.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, I’m wounded, VP.”
“I don’t have time for fucking games. I’m hanging up.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice warns.
I roll my neck, snapping my fingers at my brothers to get their attention.
“I don’t take kindly to threats.” My pulse races, sending that familiar rush through my rigid body.
Clint steps in trying to read my actions.
“Don’t go getting your panties in a wad. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
I struggle for air, my lungs rebelling.
The man continues. “It’s Fugi, son.”
Ice meets the fire in my veins, cementing me in place.
Herc stands upright, pulling back his unwavering shoulders, making him appear seven feet tall.
“Fugi, what can I do for you?”
Troy stumbles backwards against the gravel. Clint creases his forehead, both obviously shocked to be privy to a personal phone call from the president of the Pistol Kings.
“Sounds like you boys have a had a busy day.”
“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about,” I say dryly, refusing any guilt.
“Come on, we all know better than that, but that’s no longer my problem. Here’s the thing. You cut our fucking chapter in half today. You took the Jukes. We’re at a major disadvantage. You’ve handicapped us, and we know you’re not done.”
“What can I say? You got the Diablos on speed dial. Do a patch over. Pull your dick out of your prospects’, asses and put them to use. Pick up a fucking crew outside Home Depot. I don’t give a shit.”
“Yeah, well, I know something you might give a shit about.” Fugi grunts with gratified sarcasm.
“I doubt that.”
“I know where you can find Zombie.”
***
“We can’t go meet him alone. That’s like signing our own death warrants.”
“Clint’s right. We can’t afford an ambush.” I dial Jesse again, fighting the urge to throw my phone across the goddamn asphalt when I hear the automated message. “Fuck!”
“I know it’s probably not my place to say so, new to the chapter and shit, but whatever. Isn’t this what everyone has been waiting for? Isn’t this what started this war? And now you have a chance to take the cum sucker out? Troy shrugs. “I don’t know. We may not get this chance again.”
I snap my head around, arching my eyebrows as I silently question Herc. I’m not surprised when he lifts his square shoulders, indicating he’s along for the ride. I scan the ogre, my stare landing on his blood crusted knuckles. Nothing sways him when he’s in Enforcer mode. You don’t fuck with Hercules’s family.
My stomach churns as I consider my options. My thick chest tightens as I dart my gaze back and forth, my brothers glaring back with expectant stares. I rub the back of my stiff neck with one hand, not realizing the other still has a white-knuckle grip on my cell phone.
An incoming call sends a wave of vibrations up my solid arm. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Great, another fucking helping of shit to heap on the pile.
I check the caller ID. One word flashes on the screen.
Prez.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(Jolene)
The small hand on the ornate crystal wall clock ticks by at a snail’s pace. I’ve been curled up on the brown, leather chaise long enough to witness the sun fade, light melting into the darkness.
Still, I can’t break my gaze away from the woman passed out, lying in the middle of the king size bed. My sister. The wrecked poster child of the Miller clan.
It’s like I’m on one of those gravity rides at the county fair. The bottom drops, hurling your stomach into your throat. Your feet dangle as your body is pinned against the side of the machine, spinning out of control.
Ruth is up and running, for now anyway, just in time for Jessa to lose her shit. As soon as she was done babysitting, my big sister went on a total bender, guzzling a bottle of vodka. The empty stomach was just icing on the fucking cake.
She managed to throw up most of the liquid, but sat, dry heaving on the bathroom floor. Trembling from the silent sobbing.
After, I throw her arm over my shoulder.
Goddamn Deja vu.
I haul her back to bed. Thanks to her tiny build, I can wrangle her out of the tight miniskirt and damp tank top. Surveying Jessa’s thin, frail frame, I’m shocked to see the way her years of drug abuse has ravaged her body, barely recognizable that we share the same genes.
The crisp air chills the room. I use the cashmere throw that’s been strategically placed on the chaise for decoration, tucking it under my arms for warmth and settle in for the night.
Jessa’s breathing acts as a lullaby, rocking my cluttered brain to sleep.
My droopy eyes welcome the peaceful, yet fleeting, moment, which quickly disappears into a thunderous tremor, jarring me awake.
Jessa flings herself out of the bed, tripping over the tangled sheets. “What happened?” She stumbles, rubbing her searching eyes with the balls of her palms.
Startled, I fight to tug on my boots, zipping them up my bare calves. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Stay here,” I demand, grabbing the loaded pistol from my bag before rushing out the door.
“Fuck that!” Jessa is promptly on my heels.
I snake my way through the dark house, met with the same, repeated, blank stare. Everyone is filing out of the bedrooms, or where ever they might be sleeping for the night.
Stoner bolts from the back of the hallway, barreling out the front door with his weapon drawn and ready.
Duke is next, scrambling out of the guest bathroom, struggling to pull his pants up from around his ankles. He spots me, and I press my index finger
to my lips. He nods. I jerk my head toward the door, sending him out to cover his brother.
“Jo?” A half-naked Patsy is busy slipping a pair of shorts over her short, tone legs. “What’s going on? Is it Clint? Are they back?”
“Shh,” Jessa and I hush Patsy and the surrounding crowd now cluttering the foyer.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Get the girls and hunker down in Ruth’s room until you get the all clear.”
Patsy does as instructed and draws the train of concerned eyes away from the possible danger.
“Are you going out there?” My sister snatches my wrist.
I shake her off and leave her standing in the two-story archway. I click the button for the flashlight app on my cell phone and sneak out through the small gap in the door, pulling it tightly behind me.
My lungs slave to pump oxygen through my stiff shape as I steady my trigger hand, ready to blow a fresh hole through the enemy. And at this point, the enemy includes anyone who isn’t on the preapproved list that’s bouncing around in my skull.
Names flash like a neon sign illuminating subliminal messages in the black darkness.
Ronin.
Pop.
Ronin.
Ruth.
Ronin.
Jessa.
Ronin…
The stinging in my eyes makes it difficult to take stock of my surroundings. The rolling stench of smoke and burning rubber billows through the night air, strangling my throat.
I round the corner and fly into Duke.
“Get back inside, now!” He scurries past the monumental columns of the walkway, dragging me back into the house.
“What the fuck? Where’s Stoner?” I throw back the fancy drapes. The blood surging through my body ices over at the sight before me.
Across the street, a vehicle is engulfed in flames. The red and orange blaze acts as a chimney for the black clouds hanging in the atmosphere like a bad horror movie.
I search. Stoner is nowhere to be found.
“Where is he? Where’s Stoner?” I run to the next window. Neighbors cloaked in bed robes and slippers clamber out of their houses to observe the intentional bonfire.
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