Storm (Bad Boys of X-Ops #3)

by Rie Warren

  The ramshackle palace built of sandstone that rose three-stories high had seen better days—back in the grand old brass band era. The structure housing the Thunder Road Bar, a semi-legit biz fronting the Blood Legion’s illegal activities, was only a tiny bit improved from the surrounding ’hood.

  Outside, an old man, as dark as tar with a shock of white hair on his head, stepped from his sidewalk barbeque pit.

  “We got dem ribs. Dis here be da gumbo. Corn pone and special rice, dem’s da specials too-night.” He started his spiel then stopped with an eye-widening look at me. “Sto—”

  I walked quickly up to him. “Shhh.” With a hand on the back of his neck, I steered him to a dark corner. “I’m a fantôme.”

  “I don’ see you?” He blinked up at me before looking around me at Blaize.

  “Not yet. But you save us some of that there barbeque, yeah?”

  He nodded. A second later he was back at the pit, calling out, “Solomon got dem best ribs in da Delta! Come an’ git some. Smack yo lips like dat!”

  Reasonably sure Blaize and I were still flying under the radar, I guided her into the building. I inhaled the once-familiar smells. Cigarette and pot smoke. Easy pussy. Cheap liquor. I kept my arm around Blaize’s waist, navigating into the smoke-clouded barroom done up in velvet reds and dark purples and shards of broken beer bottles underfoot from one or more earlier brawls.

  Suffice to say the Legion didn’t kowtow to the municipal code of ordinances.

  The place was packed. Music pounded from speakers. Women dressed to draw attention draped themselves over Legion denizens who sharpened shiny knife blades, counted machine gun mags on tabletops, and threw back shots by the bottle.

  As soon as the door banged closed behind us all eyes swung in our direction.

  Reaching into my pocket, I drew out my cigs. I lit up, blew a couple rings, squinted through the haze.

  “Can I get a beer?” I looked at the babe behind the bar.

  Her half shirt barely covered the undersides of her tits. I added a wink to my order, and she hurried to comply.

  A man stood from one of the back tables. His face, illuminated beneath the dim overhead light choked by cigarette smoke, looked like a Freddy Krueger mask.

  Burn, here and accounted for.

  The bar chick hipped over and handed me the beer. She swept her fingers across my lips, clearly sending me the come fuck me later message.

  Blaize pushed her shoulders back, going tit for tit. She looked like she wanted to chew through the babe’s fingers.

  Good.

  She’d need that attitude in order to make it out of here alive.

  I took a good swallow before passing the longneck to Blaize. She drank in deep draughts before handing the beer back.

  Holding the bottle between two loose fingers, I dragged Blaize to me. Her eyes hit mine and lowered. Her hand massaged my chest, and she parted her lips.

  I took her mouth completely, wrapping her in my arms.

  Part of me was on mission. Part of me was completely bound up in savage passion for this woman. I teased her cool tongue into my mouth, warming it with mine.

  She moaned, eating at my mouth, drawing me closer with her hands at my neck.

  “Made that bitch step off.” Blaize drew back, glancing at the swinging hips of the retreating bar chick.

  “Cher, you can get possessive over me any time you like.” I bent for another taste of her lips, but Burn centered himself in front of us.

  In fact, when I looked up, the whole fucking rotten-to-the-core-crew encircled us, watching us—the intruders in their midst.

  Only the bald dude called Venom held back—the prez. He stroked a Super Blackhawk with his palm, the long barrel pointed loosely in my direction.

  Burn ranged closer. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t Nash LaFontaine. Come home to roost and with his very own bird.”

  And so I’d been made. That time on purpose. As a former ranking member of the Blood Legion, I was about to get shaken down. Blaize looked appropriately shocked, but she already knew the score. My past time served with the Blood Legion MC was our ticket in. Or our black tag out.

  Kouto pulled himself from a nearby stool. All six foot six of him cast a dark shadow across me.

  His deep voice thundered out. “And who this be?”

  “My old lady, Blaize.”

  The men in the bar checked her out, whistling between their teeth, making crude comments. A few even dared to step close enough to lay hands on her. Snaking a finger to her waist, playing with her hair, reaching toward the laces of her vest.

  Tossing her hair back, Blaize met each creep with a slight curl to her lips.

  “You wanna lose that hand, asshole?” I addressed the nearest dickwad, my eyes narrow slits of blue menace.

  Even more of a warning than my low tone was the KA-BAR I reached for at my thigh. “Won’t be no good on a bike with only one hand. Fuckin’ one-grip wonder, but I’d be happy to oblige.”

  The closest losers backed slightly off, but that didn’t mean they were gonna let it die. Lion’s Den? Fuck that. Blaize and I had just stepped into the real Viper Pit, and I knew from past experience our minutes could be numbered.

  Without doubt, coming back into the MC was a massive risk. Life threatening. These cold-hearted killers had lost all respect for me.

  “Blaize. ’Cause of that hair, right, cous? Does the rug match the curtains?” Venom sauntered to the forefront, tucking his revolver into the back of his pants.

  The gathered dudes chuckled at his remark.

  “Where’d you pick up a sweet piece like her?” As Venom advanced, the others fell in behind him.

  “Sent out a bunch of love letters from the cage. She wrote back. Worked better than eHarmony.” I flashed a grin.

  More laughter surrounded us until Venom slowly clapped his hands. “Always were a smartass.”

  The prez distinguished himself from the other marauders by keeping his head clean-shaved—a shiny skull tatted with the MC emblem. A skeletal face with the bloody bullet hole instead of an empty eye socket. Gold rings—chunky and solid—circled his fingers, and every visible stretch of his skin was covered in ink. In his late forties, Venom seemed to have kept up the weight-lifting regime because his body was muscle overload.

  He looked exactly like what he was. A man itching for a fight, preferably one ending in a bloodbath.

  I cinched Blaize closer to my side, taking a last drag of my cigarette before dropping it and crushing it underfoot.

  “No need to get territorial on her, brah. Not until you’ve proved you got the right.” Venom smiled like a cobra waiting to strike.

  “I already proved that. With her.”

  The circle got closer, including hard-faced women who tossed insults at Blaize:

  Cherry-whore.

  Blowrider.

  Sissy bar bitch.

  Drawing herself up beside me, Blaize unsheathed a dagger. “You think? I ain’t here to do sleepovers or braid hair, you ignorant cocksluts. I’m here for one reason only. My man. So shut the fuck up and get outta my face before I peel the fake eyelashes of y’all with my friendly knife here.”

  I got an instant boner, watching Blaize run all over the legendary Legion women.

  She waved the blade around before pointing it at a cake-faced, streaked-hair, long-nailed lady. “By the way, Nine Inch Nails is a band, baby. Not the latest trend for manicures.”

  The men roared with laughter. The chicks looked around, confused by the balls Blaize had shown. It was then I noticed one person in particular was missing from the crowd.

  But not for long.

  A high-pitched shriek sent shivers down my spine, and the hair at the back of my neck stood up on end.

  And here we go.

  I braced myself.

  In three. Two. One . . .

  “Nash LaFontaine is MY MAN!”

  Ahhh, Christ.

  Nikki hadn’t changed one single bit. That mouth on her had
only been good for one thing. Some serious blowjobs.

  She struck forward from the back of the room on high heels that pounded the floor. Everyone parted in front of her, opening a lane that led right to me.

  And Blaize.

  Halting in front of us, Nikki pulled her hand back and smacked me across the face with a blow that had two years worth of You Fucking Dickhead behind it.

  My ears rang a little, which was a good thing because she laid right in with the jabbing of her finger on my chest and the jabbering from her mouth.

  Nikki. My number one Legion broad. Used to be. Back then. At the time she’d been useable, disposable, and pretty good in the sack.

  Apparently she thought I was gonna marry her or something.

  At least that was the gist I got when I tuned back into her caterwaulin’. Not my fault hearts got broken; it’d just been part of the job.

  When her shout got so loud I thought my ears were gonna bleed, I grabbed the back of her neck. “You about done yet, Nik?”

  “You left me!”

  “Not how I remember it.” I surveyed her quickly while she fumed in front of me.

  She was still a hot piece with her long blonde hair and petite figure, but something in her had turned brittle. And she was nothing but the faint flicker of a burned-down candle compared to Blaize.

  Nikki coiled back, hissing, “You replaced me.”

  “Two years is a long time. Don’t tell me you’ve been a friggin’ nun.”

  “But I loved you.”

  Fucking sigh.

  The backlash of UC work—other people getting too involved. That was why I wholeheartedly supported the WITSEC program. Get what you needed from folks, pack ’em off to the government handlers, never hear from them again.

  Amen.

  Meanwhile, Blaize watched the entire scene with one eyebrow arched.

  I released Nikki. “Those days are over. Time for a new era.”

  “A new era? Is that what you call your new pussy?” she screamed.

  “Enough!” Venom stomped forward and backhanded Nikki without so much as a warning.

  Fuck.

  A muscle clamped tight in my jaw. My fists balled. I wanted to lay Venom out flat for putting his hands on a woman. Any woman. But I couldn’t.

  Blaize strained beside me. I just knew she wasn’t gonna let that one fly.

  She brandished her blade again. “You want a piece? Why don’t you come at me?”

  Venom lumbered around. He clenched his hand as if preparing for a blow I’d never fucking let him get off.

  Then he laughed, long and loud.

  “You got dem big balls, cher. I’ll give you that. How ’bout we let Nash take the heat for yours and his actions? After all, he’s got a lot more to answer for than you. ’Sides, Nikki’s fine, ain’t you, gal?” He whistled, and one of the other women rushed forward, taking Nik’s arm and leading her away. “The woman talks too damn much anyway. Gotta keep ’em in line.”

  I swallowed a huge gulp of relief when Blaize put her knife away.

  Turning to the crowd, Venom lifted a hand. “Matter o’ fact, all you bitches get outta here. We got some old business to attend to with Nash here.” He peered over his shoulder. “Or do you still go by your roadname, Storm?”

  “Storm’ll do,” I uttered.

  Blaize followed after Nikki and the other women.

  “Not you, beauty.” Venom hauled her away and sat her at the bar. He poured her some tequila, saying, “You get to watch the show.”

  The show was gonna be me.

  I stood in place, revealing no visible reaction at all.

  With a motion from Venom, the music cut off. The atmosphere became even more ominous. The bar emptied of women—all except Blaize—and blades flashed from many ham-fisted grips. Guns came into view.

  The bullshit welcome was over.

  It was initiation time.

  I recognized most of the men, but there were a few new faces, people and perps I’d have to look into without letting them know I was digging for info. One man in particular set off alarm bells. Didn’t know why yet. He stood almost as tall as me. His hair was as coal dark as mine, but where mine was unruly and long, his was worn short. A scar marked the left side of his forehead. A bushy beard covered the lower features of his face, but what caught my attention was the look in his hooded eyes—intense, vigilant, wary.

  Something that spoke about death . . . and possibly war.

  Kouto intersected my line of vision when he strolled in front of me. He didn’t carry a pistol or anything as common as that. He preferred his seriously evil, curved-blade machete. The gris-gris around his neck rattled when he walked around me.

  “You’re the disgraced vice president, Storm. Why should we let you back in?”

  Chapter Six

  YOLO . . . Or Not.

  I SHRUGGED. “MISGUIDED SON come home?”

  “Thought you turned evidence on us.” Burn’s road rash face tilted in a gruesome semblance of a grin.

  More men pushed forward, muttering curses, calling for my death by blade or gun.

  “The Legion’s still standing, ain’t it?” I knew these guys, and my attempt at bonhomie was only gonna last so long before they brought down the pain. “’Sides. Y’all know I got no love for the po-lice.”

  At the mention of the po-po, several members spat on the floor as if to wash a foul taste from their mouths.

  I edged toward Blaize, giving her a lazy wink before casually lifting her glass of tequila to my mouth.

  Venom leveled the barrel of his gun at me. “Didn’t say you could move, Storm.”

  “Didn’t say I couldn’t either.” I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Blaize put her palm on my chest and slid it down my front.

  Fuuuck.

  Was she trying to make me go cross-eyed and stupid?

  I kinda needed to concentrate here. On not getting killed.

  But when she dug into my pocket, probably about to find a lot more than she bargained for, my hips kicked forward, and I almost growled. Apparently being faced with imminent death with her hands on me did something crazy to my cock. She pulled out the pack of Reds and fingered a cigarette out. After fishing some more for my Zippo, she lit up.

  Blaize exhaled slow-mo smoke rings from her full glossy lips.

  The road warriors watched her with pure want in their eyes.

  I cranked an arm around her shoulders, and she lifted the smoke to my lips. I took a drag and blew it out.

  “Why’d you come back?” Burn asked.

  “The Brotherhood. Blood, guns, and blow. What else is there?”

  “Disappeared for a couple years, yeah? How’d you manage that?” Kouto took point as the others circled like sharks.

  Flashing bowie knives knuckled in tight grips pointed at me.

  “Rehab.” I winked.

  Guffaws sounded. But they didn’t last.

  “Still got your cojones, your colors, and your patch, brah. What about the backpiece?” Venom asked.

  “’Course.”

  “Show it.”

  Stripping down to my waist, I handed the leather cut to Blaize. I tugged the muscle shirt over my head and let it drop. Turning in a 180, I showed Venom and the Legion my backpiece. The skull, the bloody eye socket. One of my Sigs stuck out of the back of my leather pants. Another was holstered at my hip. The KA-BAR was strapped to my thigh, a back-up knife in my boot.

  Blaize sat behind me. I felt her taking in my body. My inked back, my ropey shoulders. And when I turned, hands in the air, the cuts of my pelvis leading into my pants. The thick, black dusting of hair on my muscled chest.

  Her eyes roamed over me from head to toe before she returned her attention to the bottle of tequila.

  “You can keep your weapons, Storm.” Venom’s head shined beneath the lights, making the skeleton tat even more macabre. “I got one more for you.”

  He held out his Blackhawk six-shooter after loading three cha
mbers.

  I took the revolver in hand.

  “Remember this?” he asked.

  Burn chuckled. Kouto rubbed his gris-gris.

  The new dude with the bushy black beard seemed to be whispering to himself.

  Looked like it was time for a little Russian roulette, crazy Cajun-style. Fifty-fifty chance of blowing my head off. Great odds.

  Not.

  “Been on the receiving end of this gun before.” I hefted the Ruger in the palm of my hand.

  “Three live rounds. Three empty chambers. Bon chance.” Venom raised a glass.

  “BON CHANCE!” The cheers reverberated throughout the room.

  Bon chance. Bottoms up. Death to the end.

  I pointed the revolver at my temple with a steady hand. The first time I’d undergone the Legion hazing there’d only been one bullet loaded.

  Seemed the stakes had just gotten higher.

  Blaize pushed her knuckles against her lips, shaking her head. Her skin was deathly pale.

  Well, waddya know? Maybe she feels somethin’ for me after all. Or maybe she’s just dreading the KIA paperwork.

  I cocked the round, a trickle of sweat sliding down the back of my neck. “Bon chance.”

  My finger notched the trigger, and I started pulling it back.

  No goddamn lie, my life flashed before my eyes. There wasn’t much to be thankful for.

  Three bullets. One key to get inside the Legion again.

  “STORM! NO!”

  I heard Blaize, saw being her held back while she tried to wrench free.

  I let the trigger go.

  The gun clicked in my hand.

  Empty.

  I almost dropped to my knees in utter relief, blowing out a huge breath.

  Venom rubbed his hands together, and I held the revolver out to him, but he shook his head.

  “No, Storm. Too easy. Two years gone. Two turns with the gun, pahdnah. Spin the chamber again.”

  A low growl came from my throat as I gave the cylinder a spin. The odds had just drastically risen. Blaize struggled against Burn and Kouto.