Free

by Kristen Ashley

  “I got a choice, I’d rather it be done sooner than later,” Beck shared.

  “You do realize you caught a killer,” Lucas declared.

  Beck looked back at him.

  “As far as your brothers know,” Lucas went on, “your woman shared shit that happened before you hooked up with her. Then you did what anyone with a soul would do. You got her to the cops so she could unburden her mind, and the man who killed a troubled woman could pay for doing that. Coincidentally, your club got shot of him that same day. But I figure you can spin that.”

  “What are you saying?” Beck asked low.

  “I’m saying the DA is going to like this,” Lucas told him. “They tend to get off on putting criminals behind bars. We would never have Janna if it wasn’t for you. And you linked Lannigan to Benson, leading us to the known associate we didn’t have of a man who last night murdered five prostitutes.”

  Holy fuck.

  Beck turned fully to Lucas. “You’re shitting me.”

  Lucas shook his head. “No. That situation is hitting crisis level and we thought we already hit it when Valenzuela reentered the game. Benson might not have rolled over on Chew, but now we got something heavy to lean on him with, and a man like that, he’ll split open. If Sanderson knows dick, he’ll also split open. Topping that, seems you single-handedly cleaned up an MC who was dicking shit up. They keep their noses clean, not wasting the time or resources of the local police force, that would be good. And through all this, if they found you out, one of us would be identifying you at the morgue. So, you swung your shit out far. I think the DA will look favorably on all that.”

  “Rosalie—”

  “Diane Ragowski was Rebel Stapleton’s best friend,” Lawson entered the conversation. “Rebel Stapleton is in Rush Allen’s bed. Which we all know means she’s claimed as Chaos. What you did to Rosalie Holloway, it’s for her to say. What I can say is that Chaos will be torn, not able to fucking hate your guts and think you’re a total piece of shit since, in a roundabout way, you did something important for one of their own.”

  “They know you’re a CI, Beck,” Lucas said quietly. “We’ll feed them this and like Mitch said, it’s up to Rosalie. But she might be moved to drop the charges. Regardless of what happens, I’ll share with you right here I think it says a lot about the man you hope to become you went the distance with this and were good to do your time when it didn’t work out like we’d hoped.”

  Lucas was a decent guy, so Beck could not deny that felt good to hear.

  Still.

  “If Rosie wants me to—”

  Lawson cut him off. “There will be no pressure. Just an information exchange. The DA isn’t in a good mood, we’ll be in touch.” He glanced to the side. “Now I think you best see to your woman.”

  Beck looked her way to see Janna had her head turned toward his.

  Marker jerked up his chin, so Beck moved through the desks as Janna put the strap of her purse over her shoulder and straightened out of her chair.

  The minute he got close, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side.

  “You good?” he asked his woman.

  She nodded.

  “You got what you need?” he asked the cop.

  “Yes. If he doesn’t confess, we might have to ask Janna back to see if she can do a voice identification. But for now, we’re good.”

  “I’d never forget that voice,” Janna told him, and he looked at her.

  “That’s good, Janna, but hopefully we won’t need that.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come in earlier,” she said in a small voice.

  “You’re here now and that’s all that matters. Now, I’ll go get that printout of your statement, you can sign it and then you two can go,” Marker replied.

  He got a nod from Janna before he took off.

  Beck curled her so they were front to front.

  “Still good?” he asked.

  She gave him a little smile. “Yeah. Still good since the last time you asked half a minute ago.”

  He just glided his hand up her spine into her hair and tucked her cheek to his chest.

  “Shouldn’t you call someone in your club?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “Well, this guy was in your club,” she pointed out. “Shouldn’t they know?”

  He dropped his hand to the back of her neck and she tipped her head to look at him.

  “Babe, I’m gonna have to step outta the club.”

  She appeared confused. “Why?”

  “Because I made a deal to inform on them.”

  “But there was nothing to inform on, except one of them was a killer, and they got rid of him so why would they care?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. In a brotherhood, it’s about honesty. I’ve been lying to them for months.”

  “Lying to the other them. You told me earlier tonight you have a new name, a new charter.”

  Well, damn.

  He stared down at her.

  “So you didn’t do anything to this club,” she finished.

  Shit.

  “Do they have to know you were set to inform on them?” she asked. “Or, the old them?”

  He hoped not.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Okay, then, do you want to be out of that club?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Fuck.

  “I think they’re goin’ in a good direction,” he shared.

  “So, don’t step out.”

  “I watched every one of them go at Rosie.”

  “Ah,” she murmured.

  “Core asked after you,” he said, though he had no fucking clue why.

  “Core?”

  “A brother. He wants me to bring you around to party.”

  Something slid over her face he couldn’t read.

  Then she breathed, “Oh my God, my mother would absolutely lose her mind if she knew her daughter was partying with bikers.”

  Beck again stared down at her.

  “Porn costumes and makeup and partying with bikers,” she said, now something happening to her face he’d never seen. “She’d . . . she’d . . . totally freak.”

  That was when Beck found himself grinning because she burst into uncontrollable giggles.

  “I think . . . I think I want to try a reconciliation just so I can bring you over and introduce her to you,” she said through her cackling. “That would be, like . . . hilarious.”

  And that was when Beck found himself smiling down at her.

  “You c-could b-be all big and hot and s-scarred and b-b-badass and stare her down. Share about your record. Wear your knife on your belt. Oh my God,” she bent to the side, still in his arms, “I c-can’t breathe.”

  He hated to say what he had to say.

  And he gave her some time to laugh, get it out, and that time he gave was selfish, since he got to watch her do it and it was really freaking cute.

  But then he had to say what he had to say.

  “You do know you’re losin’ it ’cause you’re letting some serious shit go,” he murmured.

  She straightened in his arms and looked into his eyes, lifting her hands to rest them on his chest.

  “Oh, I know, honey, and isn’t it awesome?” Her attention shifted over his shoulder then back to him. “Call your club. Don’t cut ties until you’ve had time to decide. Lieutenant Marker is coming back. I’ll sign this thing. Then we’ll stop and get ice cream on the way home. My mom was mean, and my dad was pretty much a non-entity. I think he was more scared of her than I was. But he had this great hot fudge recipe he got from his mom. And sometimes when Mom was at choir practice, or prayer circle, or whatever, we’d make it. I’ll make it for you. You’ll love it.”

  Her dad sounded like a limp-dick motherfucker.

  But Janna being bossy was all kinds of cute.

  That said, he was not a chocolate and sweets kind of guy.

  He was a beer and nachos kind of guy.


  “Sounds great,” he muttered.

  She beamed up at him, rolled up on her toes and touched her mouth to his.

  Then she pulled out of his arms and turned to Marker. “Is it all ready?”

  Beck moved away, pulling out his phone but keeping his eyes on her.

  He made his call and put his phone to his ear, eyes still on her.

  “Thro . . . sorry, man, Beck. What’s up? It’s late,” Web answered.

  “Brother, I got somethin’ you need to know that you won’t believe.”

  He was wrong.

  Web believed it.

  So Beck could look after Janna, Web said he’d spread the word with the club.

  Janna and Beck left, got ice cream and went back to her place.

  And Beck would find he was not a chocolate and sweets kind of guy.

  And he did not want to like something her dickweed dad who did not protect her gave to her.

  But she loved it.

  So Beck loved it too.

  The Future Is Now

  Valenzuela

  One seventeen, Sunday morning . . .

  He could not believe he was reduced to this.

  But his driver slid up to the curb in front of her house and there she was, as usual. Sitting on the porch in the dark.

  It was whispered she never slept. It was whispered she was God’s dark angel and she wasn’t even mortal.

  The whispers were wrong.

  That didn’t mean she didn’t hold power.

  His driver exited his seat, came to Benito’s door and let him out.

  His man got out the other side.

  Benito moved up the walk then up the steps to the house.

  There was a chill in the air, so she was wearing a webby, black wool shawl around her shoulders. Prim, black silk, expensive blouse, perfectly creased back slacks, black pumps, face made up elegantly, attractive silver hair perfectly styled.

  Throwing dancing light, Mexican sanctuary candles were lit on the table beside her wicker rocking chair, seven of them. A tall iced glass that looked like it held tea, but everyone knew that iced tea had two other words in front of it: Long Island.

  It was all very incongruous. The rundown, bright yellow house behind her with the turquoise-painted railing around the porch. The rickety slats under that rocking chair, both of which creaked as she rocked slowly, her eyes glued to him. Not a soul in sight, but he knew they had eyes on them everywhere. And the stylish, sophisticated, costly clothing and flawlessly executed appearance.

  Mamá Nana.

  Mother grandmother.

  He made it to the top step and stopped.

  Bowing low, his man moved around him and set the briefcase on the wood by her moving chair before he backed away and went down the steps to the car, as he’d been instructed.

  Through this, Mamá Nana didn’t take her eyes from Benito.

  “I’d appreciate it if we could talk,” he said, the words sticking in his craw.

  “The great and omniscient Benito Valenzuela stoops to chat with me,” she replied.

  That had been the expected response, but not the one he’d hoped for.

  “That’s double your usual fee in that briefcase,” he told her.

  She didn’t even glance at it.

  She said, “Things have gotten very difficult for you, Benito.”

  “I’m fully aware of that, sadly,” he returned.

  “This should make me feel many things, you, the child I held in my lap, bounced on my knee. But I must admit, it doesn’t surprise me I feel nothing.”

  Benito made no reply.

  That had been expected too.

  “Your mother was a good woman, a kind woman. When your father left, she worked so hard to give you a home. Unfortunately, as hard as she worked, you had little. But she had so much love to give, it was a thing of beauty, it should have been enough.” She paused as if pondering something. “You always troubled her. And it would seem she had reason to be troubled.”

  Benito felt his face tighten. “I took care of her before she died.”

  She nodded. “You did. Most gallant. Then again, you were her son. It was your duty. Sadly, you did not take care of her when she lived.”

  Regrettably, that was expected too.

  Mamá Nana, the matriarch of the neighborhood who traded in information, somehow establishing a balance over the years, nearly clairvoyant with knowing who to share what with, but most importantly when, depending on the changing tides of who controlled Denver.

  She’d been instrumental in coups. She’d played her part in the downfall of kings.

  All this living in her ramshackle home that looked like a merrily painted crack house on the outside, a Mexican souvenir shop on the inside.

  Every man, woman and child in that neighborhood would lay their lives down for her, because if your son needed school supplies and you couldn’t afford them, they’d show up on your doorstep.

  From Mamá Nana.

  And if your grandfather had been taken in, even if he’d lived in the country for thirty years but he was illegal, a high-priced immigration attorney would arrive.

  Courtesy of Mamá Nana.

  And if some white man raped your daughter, that man would be found, garroted.

  Again.

  Mamá Nana.

  So if you heard any word from anyone about anything, and you certainly were listening, you told Mamá Nana.

  Then she decided with her singular genius who to sell that information to . . . and when.

  He should have learned from this.

  Benito should have learned how to earn loyalty from Mamá Nana.

  He had not.

  However, right now, he didn’t have time for this.

  “Mamá Nana, I need information,” he told her something she knew.

  “You need a number of things, Benito.”

  He clenched his teeth.

  “That girl,” she flipped her hand, “the young one. You gave her opportunities. She warmed your bed. Then she betrayed you.” She rested her hand back in her lap. “This, I understand.”

  That surprised him.

  And at least it was something.

  “The other one.” She drew in a breath. “Very sad. But messages have to be sent.”

  That surprised him too.

  “Yes,” he gritted out when she didn’t continue.

  She turned to her tea, took it up, brought it to her lips, had a sip, put it back down, then again gave him her attention.

  “It is God who judges,” she declared.

  Fucking hell.

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “We have our wants, our desires,” she went on. “Even those that seem deviant to me, it’s not for me to judge. It’s for God.”

  Benito felt stillness invade.

  “And I have long since learned that a woman must do what a woman must do to get along in this world,” she continued.

  “Mamá Nana—”

  She interrupted him.

  “She saw to your needs. Debased or not, she saw to your needs, Benito, and you disrespected her as you did?”

  “It was her who showed disrespect,” he bit out.

  She inclined her head. “I see. Understandable to teach her a lesson then. About the face, of course. But rape?”

  Benito glowered into her eyes.

  “That’s unacceptable, mijo.”

  He was not her son.

  He did not remind her of that.

  “I’ve watched your career with some fascination,” she shared. “I even found at times I admired you.”

  He put his hand to his chest and sieved the sarcasm out of his words when he said, “I’m humbled.”

  “Nothing humbles you,” she replied softly. “This is your problem, muchacho.”

  Benito dropped his hand.

  “Make peace with this motorcycle club,” she demanded. “It was foolish to declare war on them. They are righteous warriors in a sea of wickedness. Their leader in other times would be a k
ing. Give them what they desire, Benito.” She leaned toward him. “Everything they desire.”

  Of course.

  She knew about the bones.

  She sat back.

  “And rid yourself of the things that made your mother’s heart so weak,” she carried on. “Oh, the years she lived, the wear on her knees, worrying her rosaries, praying for your soul. You must put behind you the drugs, Benito. The whores. The guns that through you invade our streets. And then come back to me. We will talk again. We will find this man you seek.”

  “I’m afraid that I’ll need your assistance sooner.”

  She used the toe of her fifteen-hundred-dollar pump to slide the briefcase across the rough, warped, notched slats his way.

  “And my regular fee will be triple,” she concluded as if he had not said a word.

  “Mamá Nana—”

  “I’ve spoken.”

  He took a step toward her but stopped when her gaze got sharp.

  “I have spoken,” she repeated.

  He held her eyes.

  Then he took more steps toward her, but to retrieve the briefcase.

  He then turned his back on her and walked to the steps, down three, but stopped and turned when her voice came again.

  “They say, mijo, these millennials who think they know all. The young. So brash. It’s amusing. But they say the future is female.”

  He waited for it.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  “Learn this as you go forth in your endeavors, Benito.” Her voice was like a blade. “The future is now.”

  She did not understand his actions with Camilla or Natalie or even the whore he’d beaten.

  The man stood by his wife, the father his children, Mamá Nana would be there.

  He did not, for him, Mamá Nana was a ghost.

  But the woman with no husband, the children with no father, Mamá Nana was always at their side.

  And if a man took his hands to his wife, his children, he was not found garroted.

  But he left the neighborhood and he didn’t return.

  Benito knew this before. He knew she would not make this easy and even thought she might not speak to him at all.

  But he was reduced to this.

  And it was worse.

  He’d allowed an imbecilic, deadbeat, outcast biker to reduce him to this.

  Perhaps he was actually learning a new emotion.

  And experiencing it, he preferred only having the few he already felt.