GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  Behind me, another female voice starts laughing as well. I turn around to see Sydney standing there.

  “Hey, girl!” she greets me.

  “Hey!” I grin, thrilled to see a friendly face. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I just got here.” She glances down dismissively at the prone figure on the couch. “I see you’ve met Heather,” she says with disgust.

  “Yeah,” I nod, glancing back as well. “I’ve had the dubious pleasure.”

  From the couch, Heather mutters something I can’t quite hear, but that doesn’t exactly sound friendly.

  “Dubious is right. Come on,” Sydney says, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go over to the bar and hang out with Jewel for a while. The club whores” — she calls out the word after Heather for emphasis — “won’t bother you any more now.”

  21

  Gunner

  Hawk, Beast, and I head out on our bikes. Thorn and Bullet follow in one of the club’s pickups, an F-150 with a hard top over the cab. The pickup’s in case we end up having to take a hostage with us on the way back. Or a body.

  We ride east for almost two hours, toward the address Tweak gave me. We end up at a small, ramshackle farmhouse out in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt. I signal to Thorn and Bullet to hang back and park the pickup out of sight further up the road. They move silently through the thicket of trees surrounding the house’s yard, coming up around the other side to watch the back. Hawk, Beast, and I park the bikes halfway up the driveway between the house and the road. Reflexively, I make sure my pistol’s securely tucked into the waistband of my jeans. When I give Hawk and Beast the nod, we and start walking up the gravel drive to the farmhouse.

  In the distance, I can hear the bark of a dog. There’s an old, dusty Chevy Impala parked off to the side of the house that doesn’t look like it’s been used in a while. It’s impossible to tell whether anyone’s home.

  We move closer slowly, hands at the ready, scanning the house and yard for any signs of movement. In my peripheral vision, I just barely see what I think is a figure moving past one of the front windows.

  “Hello?” Thorn calls out. “Anybody home?”

  From inside, I just make out a low thud. Then, a second later, a loud crack pierces the silence, followed by a whiz by my right ear.

  “Gun!” I roar.

  I drop to the ground. Off to my right I see Hawk and Beast do the same. I pull myself over behind an old, disused clawfoot bathtub planter filled with dirt, the only cover close to me. A few yards away, Hawk rolls behind the trunk of a tree.

  Off in the distance, I see Bullet running in a low crouch toward the back of the house.

  Another bullet whizzes past me. I raise my head up enough over the clawfoot to take aim. I squeeze the trigger and instantly duck back down, just in time to hear the smashing glass as the front picture window of the house shatters from the bullet.

  “God damnit!” an angry male voice yells.

  “The next one goes through your skull!” I yell back.

  For a few seconds, there’s silence.

  “You cops?” a craggy, female smoker’s voice calls out.

  “No, we’re not fucking cops!” Beast shouts in disgust. “For fuck’s sake!”

  In back, there’s the sound of splintering wood as either Thorn or Bullet kicks the door in. After a few moments of commotion inside, and another gunshot, Thorn yells to us: “We got ‘em! It’s all clear!”

  Cautiously, Hawk and Beast emerge from their covers, and we approach the house. Just as we get to the porch, Thorn opens the front door.

  “Feckin’ gobshite meth heads,” he spits in disgust.

  Hawk stays out on the porch to watch for cars. Beast and I enter the house.

  Inside, it smells vaguely of piss and old food. The place is a fucking sty, the walls greasy and stained. Old, ratty furniture looks like it was fished out of a dumpster. Bullet is training his pistol on two emaciated people with their hands up: a man and a woman whose drug addled features could place them anywhere on the age spectrum from mid-thirties to mid-fifties. On the floor is a shotgun.

  “Check the rest of the house,” I tell Thorn and Beast. They move off down the hallway, pistols drawn.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the man risks the question.

  “None of your fucking business,” I tell him. “Where’s Gonzalo?”

  “Who wants to know?” the woman sneers, revealing uneven and yellowed teeth.

  “My fucking Glock 27,” Bullet growls, indicating the pistol that’s trained on them. “You’re gonna want to give him an answer, right goddamn now.”

  “Gonzalo ain’t here,” the man says.

  “He live here?” I ask.

  “Sometimes. He ain’t been here for a coupla weeks.”

  “He have a bedroom here?”

  “Yeah. Upstairs, the last one on the right. The blue one.”

  Thorn and Beast come back downstairs. I ask him if he found anything useful in the blue bedroom.

  “Nah. Just some weed and pills. Couple of spare mags but no guns. Must have ‘em with him.”

  “Whatchu lookin’ for anyway?” the woman asks. “He got something of yours?”

  “Something like that.” I take a step forward and fix her eyes with mine. “You know where he is?”

  The woman snorts. “He don’t tell me anything. His own mother. He just comes and goes as he pleases.”

  “You sure about that?” I ask. Reaching into the breast pocket of my cut, I pull out a few bills and hold them up. “A hundred dollars would buy a hell of a lot of whatever the two of you are smoking.”

  “Maybe he’s over to Maverick’s,” the suddenly-helpful man offers as he eyes the money. “Strip club, out on the other side of town.”

  “Darren, goddamnit!” the woman spits out.

  “I know where it is,” I tell him.

  “He goes there pretty often. Knows the owner.”

  “That’s pretty damn vague,” I say, handing him a bill. “Here’s a twenty.” I nod to my brothers. “Okay, I think we’re done here.” I pick up the shotgun on the floor. The man starts to protest.

  “I’ll leave it out by the side of the road,” I say, cutting him off. “Can’t have you shooting at us as we leave, now can we?”

  We have the two of them lie down on the ground, and back out the door to make sure they’re following instructions to stay put until we’re gone.

  “You think they’re telling us the truth about not knowing where he is?” I ask Bullet as we walk back out to the vehicles.

  “Maybe.” He raises a hand and rubbed it across his clean-shaven skull. Bullet got patched into the club about a year ago, but he’s as solid and tough as they come. He’s one of the first men I’d want with me in any dangerous situation.

  Beast comes up beside us. “His room didn’t look like he’d been there for a while. Lots of undisturbed dust on shit.”

  “Thank God for shitty meth head housekeeping,” I chuckle.

  “What do we do now?” Bullet asks.

  “Go out to Maverick’s,” I say. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be there. If not, we still get to have fun looking around.”

  At two o’clock in the afternoon at a strip club, there isn’t a whole hell of a lot going on. A couple of boozers at the bar. A lone woman working the pole in a stripper version of a schoolgirl uniform. Three other scantily clad women sitting around at a back table, looking like they’re waiting for some paying customers to arrive. They perk up when we come in, but lose interest when it becomes clear we aren’t here for recreation.

  I walk up to the bar and lean on the counter. The bartender spots me and ambles over.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asks.

  “I need to see the owner. He around?”

  “Yeah. He’s in the back. Hold on.”

  The bartender looks like he’s not quite sure about leaving us alone, but he does it anyway, giving us one final glance before he heads down the hall. A minute or s
o later he returns, followed by a middle-aged guy in a black shirt and jean jacket. He’s wearing an obvious hairpiece styled like he got it off a seventies-era porn actor.

  The man walks up to the five of us, his face a suspicious frown. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah.” I take a step forward. “I’m looking for Gonzalo Medina. Somebody told me you’re a buddy of his.”

  “Who wants to know?” he asks, his chin jutting forward.

  I cut a sideways glance at Thorn and the others. I don’t have time for bullshit. “Let’s take this outside.”

  “I ain’t goin’ outside,” the guy says obstinately, squaring his shoulders.

  “I suggest that you are,” I tell him. “Unless you want this to get ugly in front of your paying customers.” He opens his mouth to resist, but I cut him off. “You aren’t in any danger, as long as you do what we say. We just have a couple of questions.”

  Not waiting for an answer, I stride to the door and push it open. When I get to the parking lot and turn around, I see he’s decided to comply. The other Lords surround him as soon as he’s through the door, to make sure he doesn’t try to make a run for it or something equally stupid.

  “Okay,” I say when he stops in front of me. “Let’s try this again. Tell me about Gonzalo Medina.”

  “I didn’t say I know him,” he smirks.

  I’m getting fucking sick of this piece of shit’s attitude. “Seriously, fuckbag?” I pull out my Glock and point it at his head before he even knows what’s happening. “Is this how you want to do this?”

  “Jesus!” he sputters, flinging up his hands in alarm. “Okay, okay, fuck! Yeah. I know him!”

  I let him see me relax just slightly. “You seen him lately?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes shift away from my face. “He was here maybe a week, ten days ago.” He starts to lower his arms, but I stop him.

  “Keep ‘em in the air,” I order. “Doing what?”

  He risks a shrug. “Doing what guys usually do when they come here. Have a few drinks. Get a lap dance. He may have gone into the back with one of the ladies.”

  With my other hand, I reach into my pocket for my phone. “You ever see this woman?” I ask, holding it out so he can see the picture of Alix’s sister. “With or without Gonzalo?”

  He glances at the screen. “Nope. Can’t say I recognize her.”

  “You absolutely sure about that?” I growl. “Because if I find out later that you lied to me, I’m gonna pistol whip that fucking toupee right off your goddamn head.”

  The man visibly blanches. “I don’t think I recognize her,” he babbles. “I mean, I see a lot of gash around here, ya know? After a while, they all sorta look the same.” He looks at the phone again. “Yeah, maybe I do recognize her. I dunno.”

  “Fuck this,” I mutter. “Keep an eye on him.” I put away my gun and go back inside, to the corner table where the three working girls are seated.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” I greet them. “How y’all doin’ today?”

  “We’re doin’ just fine, handsome,” a young, curly-haired bottle blond drawls, giving me a smile and a wink. “You fellas here for some fun?”

  “Not today. Got a little favor to ask you.” I hold out my phone so they can see. “Any of you three ladies recognize this woman?”

  The middle one frowns a bit, then nods. “Yeah. She was in here a couple of days ago. With one of Tony’s friends.”

  “Tony’s the owner?”

  “Uh-huh.” The woman wrinkles her nose. “She looked kind of out of it.”

  “Out of it? Like on drugs?”

  She nods. “Like she wasn’t really sure what was going on, to be honest. She was barely standing upright. At the time, I was just shaking my head.” She looks at me, concern in her eyes. “You trying to find her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought maybe the guy she was with was her pimp at first, or something. It looked like to me he was trying to get Tony to hire her as a dancer.”

  Anger rises up like a ball of fire inside me, but I keep my face neutral. “Is that right?” I say mildly. “See, that’s kind of funny. Because Tony told me he’d never seen her before.”

  “He’s lying, then.” Her lip curls. “He totally saw her.”

  “Thank you, ladies.” I give them a tight grin. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Come back sometime when you’re looking for a little fun,” the blond winks at me. The woman next to her nods and licks her lips.

  I go back to my brothers, who are surrounding an increasingly agitated-looking Tony. “So. It turns out, our friend here lied to us,” I say conversationally. “Those three women at that table inside confirmed Gonzalo was in here a couple days ago with our target.”

  Thorn clicks his tongue in disapproval. “That was a very bad idea, now. How can we be friends if you lie to us, brother?”

  “I’m sorry!” Tony stammers, looking wildly at each of our faces in turn. “Look, I was just trying to protect a friend! You guys are big on loyalty, right?”

  Hawk shakes his head sadly. “Not when it means lying to an outlaw, son. Bad fuckin’ idea, like my brother here says.”

  “And seeing as how you lied to us once, now we can’t be sure you won’t lie to us again if we make you promise not to tell your buddy Gonzalo we stopped by,” I tell him.

  “Shit!” he cries, his eyes growing wide with fear. “I promise! I promise! I won’t tell him a thing! He’s not even that good a friend!”

  Bullet snorts. “Loyalty,” he mutters, disgusted.

  “Take him,” I say. Before he can react, Hawk and Bullet have him by the arms and are hauling him toward the pickup. Tony starts screaming and thrashing, trying to get away, but Hawk puts an end to that by giving him a hard elbow to the face.

  “Take our friend someplace secluded,” I tell Thorn. “Work on him for a while. See if he gives up anything actionable. I’m going back to Tanner Springs, to work on getting more intel from Tweak on where Gonzalo and his crew have their HQ. I’ll have Rock or Angel call the Death Devils and ask them if they can store Tony for us for a while once you’re done with him.”

  “Yeh. Understood.”

  “Good.” I glance back at Maverick’s. “And tell the bartender that Tony had to go run an errand. Let him know he’ll be gone for a little while.”

  22

  Alix

  Gunner and the others are gone for hours and hours. I’m incredibly grateful to Sydney, who stays with me the whole time. She even manages to make me laugh a few times, in spite of the fact that I’m completely on edge waiting for the men to get back.

  Sydney calls one of the other old ladies — apparently, that’s what the club calls the wives and long-term girlfriends — to keep us company. Her name is Jenna, and apparently she’s with Ghost, the Sergeant at Arms. Jenna’s petite, like me, but maybe an inch shorter. She’s got straight blond hair, a couple of shades darker than my wavy tresses, and blue eyes to my brown. But other than that, we could be cousins.

  Jenna introduces herself to me, and says hello to Sydney and Jewel. “The kids are with the sitter, so I’m here as long as you need me,” she says, sliding onto a bar stool.

  “Where’s Sam?” Sydney asks.

  “She’s at a shoot. Couldn’t get away.” Sydney turns to me. “Samantha is Hawk’s old lady. She’s a photographer. She might show up later if she can manage it.”

  The three women tell me a little more about themselves as Jewel brings us something a little stronger to drink. I find out that not only is Jenna Ghost’s old lady, she’s also the sister of Angel, the vice-president of the club. She has two kids with Ghost, a boy named Noah and a girl named Mariana. Sydney blushingly tells me she and Brick don’t have any children yet, but that they’re trying.

  “What about you, Jewel?” I ask the bartender, a tall, pretty woman with honey-colored hair and a wide, open smile. “Are you someone’s old lady, too?”

  Jewel bursts into peals of laughter. “
Hardly,” she giggles. “I’m not a club girl, either. I just tend bar here.”

  “How do you get a job as a bartender for a motorcycle club?” I ask, perplexed. “I mean, I don’t imagine they put a help wanted ad in the paper.”

  Jewel laughs again. “No, not exactly. It’s a bit of a long story. I was working at a place in Lincolnville,” she says vaguely, and trails off. Jewel’s gaze flicks quickly to Jenna. “I was looking for a change of scenery. Ghost and Angel used to come in from time to time. Eventually Angel told me the club was looking for a bartender.” She looks around with a shrug. “The rest is history, I guess,” she smiles.

  I’m curious about what kind of place she was working in before this, but something in Jewel’s manner tells me she’d rather not talk about it anymore. Instead, I take a sip of my drink.

  “So, how are you doing, Alix?” Jenna asks me then in a concerned voice. “Sydney told me a little bit about your situation. She said Gunner’s helping you look for your missing sister?”

  Even though I didn’t plan to, I end up telling Jenna, Sydney, and Jewel the whole story about why I’m here. I even tell them that Gunner’s been letting me stay at his place, though I leave out the part about us being slightly more than friends. But Sydney doesn’t take my silence on the matter sitting down.

  “So… what exactly is up between you and Gunner, anyway?” she winks.

  “Nothing,” I stammer. “I mean, not really. He’s just… helping me, like I told you at your coffee shop.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says dismissively, clearly not believing a word I say. “But what you didn’t tell me was that you’re staying at Gunner’s house. That was important information you left out, girlfriend.”

  “What’s his house like?” Jewel asks with wide eyes. “I can’t even imagine.”

  “It’s just… normal,” I say. “Nice, actually. It would even be comfortable there, if I wasn’t jumping out of my skin with worry.”

  “So, your sister… do you think something might have happened to her?” Sydney asks, her voice gentle.