by Lilly Atlas
“It gets worse. Snake claims one of us stole a fuck ton of drugs from the Grimms. Gave me until midnight to find the drugs and hand over the guilty party. Lila is collateral.”
Silence filled the room for a long, tense moment.
Jester stopped pacing and gaped at Striker. “You coulda told me Snake had a sex change and I wouldn’t be as fuckin’ shocked as I am now. Think he was shittin’ you?”
Striker turned his glass over and slid it back and forth between his hands on the table. “I think he believes one of us did it. Whether or not it’s true, I don’t know.”
“And if we don’t deliver on time?” Shiv asked.
Striker looked him right in the eye. “Says he’s in the market for a new ol’ lady.”
Expletives came from each man as Striker’s meaning sank in.
“Damn, I’m sorry this touched your woman, Striker.”
Striker looked at Shiv. The older man sat with his head rested on his hands, which were propped up by his elbows on the table. In that position he looked tired, defeated.
The men were quiet for another moment before Acer spoke. “Okay, so we get on this fast, find the fucker, strip his patch, and toss him to the Grimms. Saves us the trouble of getting rid of him.”
Striker nodded. “I agree, though I told Snake to expect him in less than perfect condition. I want a few shots at him before we hand him over.”
They all nodded.
“Who do we look at for this? I don’t even know where to fuckin’ begin.” Shiv shook his head. “Never would have thought one of us would do something like this.”
Striker dropped his head. What a disaster. They were sentencing a brother to death, a fact that Lila had clearly picked up on. The way Lila had stared at him when she realized the guilty man would be handed over to the Grimm Brothers was burned into his memory. Horror and disgust had been written plainly all over her beautiful face. But worse, was how she wouldn’t even look at him right before Snake rode off with her. Striker knew that as long as he lived he’d never scrub the image of Lila on the back of Snake’s bike from his brain.
“I have an idea who it is.” Jester spoke, and his words crashed Striker back into the moment.
Each man gaped at him.
“Do you fucking know something about this, Jester?” Striker’s voice was deadly, warning the other man what would happen if he’d been keeping something of this magnitude from him.
“No, VP. No fucking way I’d let something like that slide. And I could be completely wrong about my suspicions, but I think Rock might be using.”
“Rock? You’re shittin’ me.” Rock was a newer member, who had received his patch a little over a year ago. Striker was surprised, he’d been one of the best prospects they ever had. Took all the shit they gave him as though it was nothing. Not for one second would Striker have guessed he was using drugs. “Why do you think that?”
“Few times we’ve been out on runs, I thought he might be high. His behavior’s been gettin’ erratic. I also overheard him talking about money troubles.”
Striker considered Jester’s words. He looked at Shiv to gauge his reaction. Shiv reached into his pocket and drew out a thick cigar. His eyes were sad as he lit it. This would weigh heavily on him, that he let a man into the club who could hurt their family.
“He has been off lately. I knew he was having money troubles as well, and just figured he was stressed. But now that I think about it, he definitely could have been stoned.” Acer shook his head in disgust as he added his thoughts.
“Big leap from doing some drugs to stealing two-hundred-fifty thou worth of product from the Grimms.” Shiv puffed out a stream of smoke and watched it swirl toward the ceiling.
Jester let out a low whistle. “Two-fifty? Shit, no wonder Snake’s on the warpath. We’d tear their club apart if the situation was reversed.”
Striker nodded. Jester was right. Had someone stolen that much from the No Prisoners, they’d be on the receiving end of a full out attack. Difference was, they’d never go after someone’s ol’ lady as payback. There were just some lines you didn’t cross. Sort of an outlaw code of honor. Snake didn’t seem to buy into that. “Obviously we need to be one hundred fucking percent sure about this. The Grimms aren’t going to just give him a spanking and let him walk.”
“I think we should straight on confront him.” Acer snagged the bottle from Shiv and took a swig. “He’s fucked up right now. If it’s him, I think he’ll piss himself to get back in your good graces.”
“Do it now. At his house. This way we can see if he has the shit there. Get Gumby and Hook in on the deal as well. We gotta move fast. Bastard only gave us twelve hours.” Shiv looked at Striker as he issued the order.
All three men nodded. “There will need to be retaliation,” Striker said. “We cannot let this slide. They have my woman. I don’t even want to think about—” He stopped, unable to complete the sentence. He had to believe Snake would hold up his end of the bargain and leave Lila unharmed until the deadline. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to function.
Shiv’s hand landed on Striker’s shoulder with a firm squeeze. “He’ll pay for this, son. I promise you that. But you need to promise me you won’t go cowboy on us and try to take him out yourself. When the time is right we’ll cut that slithering bastard’s head off, but we’ll do it right. You hear me?”
Striker would be lying if he said the idea of going after Snake on his own hadn’t crossed his mind, but Shiv was right. It would be smarter, and safer, to plan the retaliation as a club.
“Loud and clear, Pres.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Okay boys, let’s go catch us a traitor.”
Acer and Jester walked out to the bikes leaving Shiv and Striker at the table. Shiv stood and pulled Striker up for a fierce hug. He slapped him on the back as he whispered, “Your woman’s tough, and about as smart as Einstein. She’ll be okay brother.”
A hint of a smile ghosted Striker’s lips at Shiv’s words. “Thanks, man.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
An hour later, Striker, Gumby, Hook, and Jester convened outside Rock’s front door. Acer waited on his bike at the edge of the driveway. The neighborhood was shit. Someone needed to guard the bikes and keep an eye out for trouble. Acer drew the proverbial short straw.
Striker glanced at Rock’s house. He used the term house lightly. Rock lived in the trashy part of town, in a rundown two-bedroom shack. It looked like crap on a good day, but today it looked even worse. The front had two windows, one on each side of the door. Boards covered one window while the other had a large crack straight down the center.
It made sense now, the dilapidated house, and the less than desirable neighborhood. Rock pissed all his money away on drugs. Damn, he’d seemed like such a great addition to the club, and Striker couldn’t get over the idea of his betrayal.
Rock had a great personality, always joking and upbeat. He was a favorite with the ladies as well, although Striker couldn’t imagine any of them coming back to this hole with him and deciding to spend the night.
Shaking his head in disgust at the entire situation, Striker used the side of his fist to pound on the door. The house remained quiet though they knew he was home. He’d partied last night with a few other guys who told Striker Rock left with a broad, taking her back here.
Striker limited the number of people who knew about the possibility of Rock’s betrayal to the group that was here at the house and Shiv. Until they were certain, there wasn’t any point in rattling the whole club.
After a minute he nodded to Jester who tried the doorknob. It was locked, but the door was so shoddy that one good shove from Jester’s giant frame and it popped right off the hinges. Oh well. There was a good chance Rock wouldn’t have a need for that door much longer anyway.
The foursome strode into the quiet house, and all stopped short when the appalling conditions became apparent. Striker had been inside once, about six months ago, but for what, he couldn’t recall. He remembe
red the place was a dump, but what they saw in front of them was beyond disgusting. Fast food wrappers littered the floor along with empty beer and liquor bottles. One tall standing lamp was lit in the corner, and provided a fair amount of light since the lampshade appeared to be missing. The natural light was limited with the boarded window, and a smoky haze swam through the air.
“Jesus.” Gumby held an arm across his nose and coughed. “This place smells like shit. What the fuck is going on with him?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say he was high more often than not these days.” Jester ventured into the room and peered down at a coffee table littered with hypodermic needles, rubber tubing and burned spoons.
“Looks like you were right about him, Jest,” Striker said, his voice filled with revulsion. “Fucking idiot. Let’s find him, and see if Snake’s shit is here. Christ, what a fuck up.”
The men hazarded deeper into the house, toward Rock’s bedroom. Striker arrived first, and nudged the thin door open with his foot. He wasn’t going to touch a damn thing in this filthy building if he could avoid it.
When he stepped into the room, he turned his attention toward the bed. Sure enough, Rock was passed out face up on the mattress with one arm thrown over his head. A sheet covered the lower half his body, and the other arm lay at his side. Track marks dotted the crook of his elbow, and even more drug paraphernalia topped the nightstand next to the bed.
A woman slept next to Rock, sprawled out face down, with her naked ass on display.
Gumby was next to wander in, with Jester and Hook on his heels. “Well lookie here!” Gumby said as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Rock got himself a little action last night. Nice ass. Too bad she’s probably a crack whore.”
He moved around the bed, and lingered over the woman’s prone form. Neither she nor Rock stirred despite the fact that the men made no effort to be quiet. Gumby bent down and ran his hand over the woman’s ass. “Grade A,” he said with a smirk before he lifted his hand only to bring it down with a sharp crack against the woman’s rounded cheek.
A shrill cry sounded through the room, and she shot up in bed. With wide, frightened eyes the woman turned over and scooted back toward the headboard. Gumby kept the smirk on his face as he looked at the rest of the guys. “Ooh, front’s not quite as nice boys.”
The woman was probably attractive at one point. Now, however, the effects of prolonged drug use had taken an obvious toll on her. Her face was haggard, aged her before her time, and her limp blonde hair hung in her face, a stringy mess. She shrieked again, and attempted to rip the sheet from Rock to cover her own body. Her face reflected stark terror, and she trembled as her gaze bounced between the four men staring at her.
Finally, Rock stirred. “What the fuck, bitch?” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “There a fuckin’ fire or something?”
Gumby picked a cheap-looking dress up from the floor by his feet, and tossed it to the woman. “Get the fuck out, honey. We need to talk to your man.”
She snatched the clothing from Gumby’s hand, and ran from the room with the sheet wrapped around her. “He’s not my man,” she spat out. “Asshole was so stoned he could barely get it up.” The men’s snickers trailed behind her as she fled.
Jester hooted with laughter. “Hear that, Rocky boy? I think a limp dick means you’re doing too much of that shit.” Jester’s mega phone voice seemed to clear any lingering sleep from Rock’s head. His eyes popped open, the pupils dilated wide.
“VP. Shit, did I miss church? Something wrong?” Rock seemed unconcerned that he was nude, and no longer beneath the cover of the sheet.
He had to know why they were there, but if this was how he wanted to play it, then fine, Striker could play this game. “Get dressed and come out to the den. I don’t want to have to stare at your dick while I talk to you. Stay with him, Gumb.” He wasn’t taking the chance that Rock would escape out the window.
“Sure, VP.”
Striker moved toward the door with a signal for Jester and Hook to follow him. As they left, he heard Gumby talking to Rock. “Come on asshole, I don’t want to see your tiny dick either. Get your ass up. You’re about to have an interesting day.”
When he was dressed, Rock joined them in the den. Gumby lingered near the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed, one shoulder against the wall. Hook guarded the front door in much the same position, and Jester stood off to the left of the couch in front of the boarded window. All exits were covered.
“Sit your ass down.” Striker pointed to the couch.
Rock looked uneasy, and wasted no time trying to get on Striker’s good side. “Sorry about the mess, VP. I haven’t been here much to clean it up.” His eyes darted between the four men as he spoke.
He was a sight. A thick and uneven beard sprouted from his face, and his clothes were ripped and stained. Black grease caked under his fingernails, and deep purple rings of fatigue resided under each of his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and probably hadn’t showered in as long.
“I don’t give a fuck about this shithole, Rock.” Striker stood in front of the couch with one booted foot braced on the coffee table. He leaned forward and rested his elbow on his bent leg.
“Yeah. I know why you’re here.” Rock waved a hand back and forth in front of him indicating the drug supplies on the table. “Look, brother, I swear I only do it once in a while when I’m partying. It’s really no big deal. I’ll stop.” He wiped his hands on the front of his thighs repeatedly, a nervous gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Striker.
“You broke a club rule. A big one. No one gives a fuck about a little weed, but this hard shit?” He waved toward the table. “It’s unacceptable.”
Rock swallowed, and started to bounce his leg in place. “I’m really sorry, brother, I swear it won’t happen again. You’re not gonna try and take my patch are you?”
Striker ignored the question in favor of his own. “Grimms approached me. Actually, they ambushed me when I was with my ol’ lady.” Striker let that sink in for a few seconds before he continued. Rock stopped moving, but that was the only indication he gave of any knowledge of where this conversation was going. “Turns out they are missing a fuck load of product. Snake claims a No Prisoner is responsible. Know anything about that, Rock?”
All color leached out of Rock’s face at Striker’s inquiry. To Striker, that was as good as a confession, but he wanted to see how this would play out. Would Rock man up and own it or would he pussy out and lie? It wouldn’t change the outcome, but it would help Striker further understand the kind of man who would deceive his brothers.
Rock went with door number two. “VP, brother, that would be suicide. I wouldn’t shit on my patch like that.”
Beads of sweat popped out along his brow and rolled down his face. Striker looked to Jester and gave him a subtle nod. Jester took one step toward Rock, cocked his arm, and rammed his fist into the other man’s ashen face. “Call him brother again, and I won’t stop until you’re dead. You are no brother of his.”
“Care to revise your answer?”
Rock broke down. He bent forward and covered his face with his hands as sobs shook his body. Blood ran unchecked from his nose, but Rock paid it no attention. Words tumbled out of his mouth so fast, Striker barely made out what he was trying to say. Something about owing money to his dealer and how sorry he was. All bullshit in Striker’s opinion. The excuses didn’t matter. He was done.
“Jesus, stop crying like a little bitch.” Gumby pushed away from his spot on the wall.
Striker held a hand out to halt Gumby’s progression. They’d get their retribution, but it would be done according to club policy.
“You sell it yet?” he asked Rock, his voice low and deadly.
Rock stopped crying, and leaned against the back of the couch looking utterly defeated. He shook his head. “I have a meet set up tomorrow, supposed to unload it then.”
Striker just stared at him.
“It’s all
under the bed.”
“Fucking idiot.” Jester pushed off the wall and strode toward the bedroom. After a moment he yelled, “Should be able to fit it all in our saddle bags.” He came back into the den with packages of heroin in his hands. “I’ll load it up.”
Rock turned a bit green and looked like he might get sick. Striker moved in front of him, and leaned in, inches away from Rock’s face. He wanted to make sure Rock knew the extent of his fuck up.
“Snake has Lila.” Striker said it with a calm he didn’t know he still possessed. Hatred for this man burned through his gut like an iron poker straight from the fire. That he could put his own selfish needs above the needs of the club, of his family was unthinkable. He was a coward and a traitor, two things Striker loathed.
“Oh shit.” The words were barely a whisper.
“For that alone I would have killed you. But, you’re in luck. I made a promise, and I can’t kill you.”
A look a relief crossed Rocks face, and Striker took perverse pleasure in dropping the final bomb. “That will be Snake’s job.”
Striker saw the moment Rock realized the club planned to turn him over to the Grimms. He bolted up from the couch, and charged toward the front door. Striker reflexively punched him in the face, and he went down as hard as his name suggested.
“Damn that felt good.” Striker rubbed his knuckles and turned toward Hook. “Tie him up, then get a prospect out here with a van to take him to the warehouse. Have everyone else meet there in an hour.”
He strode toward the door and exited the house, walking straight toward his bike. After he filled Acer in, he threw a leg over his bike, and took off toward the warehouse. He needed a few minutes to collect himself. Right now he was in a tailspin.
What kind of leader was he if he couldn’t sort out the good men from the bad? And what kind of man was he if he couldn’t protect his woman? Now that he had a moment to think about something beyond discovering who betrayed the club, fear for Lila assaulted him. The only way to make this up to her would be to leave her to live her life. For the first time in his own life, Striker wondered how he’d get over walking away from a woman.