Damon shrugged. “Taggert's planning on pushing for us to start running the harder stuff at the next meeting.”
“Taggert is all about Taggert. He's more devoted to what benefits him and his bank account than to the club. That's a problem,” Carl said. “Sure, running heroin is a lot more profitable than weed. But at what cost to the club? What sort of trouble is he going to bring down on all of our heads?”
“Exactly,” Damon said. “We've got the votes to block it. For now. But I'm afraid that, at some point, he's going to win enough support. We're going to have to do something about him sooner rather than later.”
Carl ran his hand along his chin, the stubble making a sound like sandpaper. “Now's not the time to worry about Taggert. Keep giving him rope and he'll eventually hang himself.”
“Before he gets enough support to remove you from office? He's already tried more than a few times,” Damon argued. “You willing to roll the dice on that?”
Carl gave him an enigmatic smile. “I'm not afraid of a punk ass little bitch like Taggert,” he said. “Let him come at me and give me his best shot. Odds are, he'll be the one who ends up on his ass. Again.”
“Carl, man, look, I don't think you – ”
He held up a hand to forestall any more debate. “We'll move on him eventually. But now isn't the time.”
Damon nodded, deferring to the club president on the matter. Carl looked at him evenly, his eyes piercing him and holding him fast.
“You sure this piece you got upstairs and her ex aren't going to be a problem?”
“Nothing I won't be able to handle,” Damon replied.
“But if the time comes,” Carl said, “can I count on you to do right by the club first and foremost?”
“You have my word.”
Carl nodded. “Good.”
CHAPTER TWO
Damon was standing out on the back deck of the clubhouse drinking a beer and thinking about everything going on. Behind the clubhouse and shop was a thick grove of trees and just beyond that was the Hudson River. Damon always liked it out back. It smelled fresh. Clean. The stillness and beauty of it always helped him clear his mind.
What was he doing with Cassie? Sure, he was having some fun with her right now, but what was he going to do with her? She couldn't stay there at the clubhouse. He wasn't going to let her move into his apartment. Was he just going to kick her out on to the road when he was done with her? He really didn't know.
He didn't bother turning around when he heard the sound of heavy boots on the wooden deck behind him. “What is it, Breaker?” he asked.
“How do you always know it's me?”
“Because you walk with all the grace of an elephant with a bum leg,” Damon said, finally turning around. “You make a distinctive sound when you walk.”
Breaker nodded and smiled. Michael Costigan, otherwise known as Breaker, was the club's police monitor. He was a geek who had slowly been bringing the Dragons into the 21st century by installing computers in the clubhouse – and teaching them all how to use them. Breaker had always amused Damon. He was quick witted, had a flair for storytelling, and always knew how to tell a joke.
He was only twenty-two, but was already a full patch member of the Dragons. Breaker was loyal and always put the club first – something Damon knew others couldn't say. He had long hair that was always tied back into a braid – just like Carl's. Damon had always assumed he wore his hair that way because he idolized Carl. He had eyes the shade of green of fresh leaves in springtime and a baby face. He was a good kid who looked way out of place among the rough, grizzled old bikers that filled out the ranks of the Dragons. Breaker spent most of his time at the clubhouse monitoring the police department on radio and the internet, alerting them to anything going on so they could avoid any trouble with law enforcement. He was really good at what he did and really knew his shit. Damon was thankful they had him on their team. He'd helped get them avoid more jams than he could count.
“Yeah, I guess I'm not exactly light on my feet,” Breaker admitted.
“What's up, kid?”
“Carl wanted me to come get you,” he replied. “Something you need to see.”
Damon downed the last of his beer and tossed the empty into a can beside the door as he followed Breaker back inside. He followed the kid to the back part of the clubhouse where Breaker had his office set up. Damon wasn't much for computers and technology. He had his smartphone and laptop, used them when needed, but didn't know much more than he needed to.
Breaker, on the other hand, was fully immersed in the technological world. His office looked like something you'd see in an FBI field office or something. There were monitors everywhere – some security video feeds, some computer monitors – as well as a hundred other things. Damon didn't need to know what everything did, so he never asked. Breaker, though, was completely plugged in. And, from this office, he monitored the local police bands in addition to keeping tabs on any open investigations surrounding the Dragons. It was all over Damon's head, but Breaker was wired in, knew his shit, and protected the club. To Damon, that was all that mattered.
When they walked into Breaker's office, Damon found Carl standing before the bank of monitors that provided the security feed for the grounds around the clubhouse. Breaker dropped down in the chair behind his desk as he stepped up beside Carl and looked at the monitors. It didn't take him long to see what had Carl and Breaker a little jumpy. A man with a slight paunch, thinning hair, and pasty white skin was poking around the back fence. He wore blue jeans, a white long sleeved button down shirt, and wire rim glasses.
Damon couldn't say with absolute certainty, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was looking at Andy – Cassie's husband. But how had he found his way to the clubhouse? How did he know this was where Cassie was holed up?
“Who is that?” Carl asked.
“Don't know for sure,” Damon replied slowly.
Carl turned to look at him. He obviously had an idea of his own, but was looking to Damon for confirmation. “If you had to guess?” Carl asked.
Damon wouldn't meet Carl's eyes, instead remaining focused on the monitors. “If I had to guess, I'd say it's Cassie's ex.”
“Kinda what I figured,” Carl said. “How'd he get here?”
Damon finally looked up and at Carl. “Couldn't tell you,” he said. “I have no idea. It's not like he saw me ride off with her last night.”
Carl nodded. “Breaker, do me a favor. Go and get our guest, will you? Let's ask her a few questions.”
Without a word, Breaker left the office, leaving Damon alone with Carl. There was a tension in the air and Damon could tell Carl was on edge. Having Cassie's ex poking around was about the last thing they needed. Especially with the run to Margaretville coming up.
“Before you even ask,” Damon said. “I have no idea how he got here.”
Carl nodded. “It's a problem for us.”
“I know.”
They watched the man poking around the back fence and Damon wasn't sure what he was doing exactly. Maybe looking for a spot to climb over? It was seven and a half feet high, made of cinder block, and reinforced with a double layer of steel rebar. It would take a tank to drive through the wall. And given the fact that the man looked like he was soft around the middle and probably not in the best of shape, Damon doubted he was going to be able to scale it.
The door to the office opened and Cassie stepped through, followed by Breaker who sat down at his computers again and tried to be unobtrusive as possible. Carl pointed to a small table sitting in the corner of the room that had several fast food bags and cans of Dr. Pepper scattered across the surface.
“Have a seat.”
Cassie sat down silently and looked at the two men with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
“Sorry about the mess,” Carl said as he picked up some of the bags and dropped them in the trashcan beside the table. “I keep telling Breaker there he needs to learn to pick up after himself.”
&n
bsp; Damon shot a look over at their tech guru who appeared to have some extra color in his cheeks.
“Do you know why I brought you down here, Cassie?” Carl asked.
She looked at Damon briefly and then shook her head. “No, I'm sorry. I don't.”
Carl stepped aside so she would have a clear view and pointed to the security monitors. “You know that guy?”
Cassie's face turned ashen as her eyes grew wide. She looked like she was going to be sick. Her lower lip trembled and her tears shimmered with unshed tears. She looked terrified. “That's Andy,” she said softly. “My hus – my ex-husband.”
Carl nodded. “Uh huh. Kinda what I figured,” he said. “You know how he got here? How he found us?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I don't. I swear to God I don't.”
“You didn't make a phone call?” Damon asked. “Send him a text message? Anything?”
Cassie shook her head again. “I don't even have my phone. I left it at the house when I ran.”
“Then how do you think he found you?” Carl asked, an edge to his voice.
“I don't know,” she said as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don't have the first clue.”
“I think I can help with that,” Breaker said.
All eyes turned to the kid and he gave them a lopsided smile and handed her purse to Carl. “I took the liberty of checking your purse,” he said. “I'm sorry for the invasion of your privacy, but I have to protect my club.”
Cassie scrubbed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “It's okay,” she said. “I have nothing to hide.”
“What did you find?” Carl asked.
“There was a small transmitter hidden in the lining of one of the pockets,” he said.
“A transmitter?” Damon asked.
Breaker nodded. “A tracking device. It allows him to know where she is at all times. He probably has an app on his smartphone linked to the device.”
Cassie shook her head and covered her face with her hands. Damon could see the color rising in her face and knew that, in addition to the terror she was feeling, she was feeling humiliated.
“I can't believe this. I'm so sorry. I didn't know,” she said quietly. “I was just looking for a safe place to hide from him until I could figure out what to do next.”
Carl nodded. “Breaker, take her back up to her room, if you would please.”
Breaker gently helped Cassie to her feet and escorted her out of the room, speaking softly to her as they left. Damon watched the man poking around outside, pictured him doing the things Cassie had told him Andy had done to her and a dark rage began to envelop him. Electric bolts of anger were shooting through his veins. He wanted to hit something – actually, he wanted to hit Andy. Pummel him. Beat him to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. He ground his teeth, clenching and unclenching hands that were dying to hurt. To destroy.
“You seem a little heated,” Carl observed.
“Yeah.”
“This isn't your fight.”
“I brought her here,” Damon said. “He followed. It is my fight.”
“You need a little perspective. And time to cool off.”
Damon shook his head. “No, I need to go deal with this. I brought this problem down on us. I need to go clean it up.”
“And by clean it up,” Carl said, “you mean making our little problem out there disappear completely.”
“Better you don't know specifics.”
Carl nodded. “I wish you hadn't brought the girl here,” he said. “But I can't and won't fault you for it. You were doing a good thing protecting her. And the guy stalking around out there is a problem. But we're not at the point where we have to do anything just yet. Don't get your hands dirty until you absolutely have to.”
“I can make this all go away, man.”
Carl shook his head. “Maybe in time. But not yet. Give him enough rope to hang himself with first.”
Carl left the room, leaving Damon alone to stare at the monitors – and at the cowardly piece of shit walking around out there – as the depth of his rage grew.
CHAPTER THREE
“You don't know what he's like,” Cassie whispered.
“You don't know what I'm like.”
Damon and Cassie sat in his room together as night fell outside. After Carl had questioned her – and had shot down his request to go handle the problem once and for all – Damon had gone for a ride to clear his head. Maybe on some level, he was hoping to run into Andy on the road just to give him an excuse to beat the man to a pulp. After a couple of hours, he returned to the compound with beer and some burgers.
He drained his can and tossed it into the paper bag as Cassie looked at him. Her mind and body were awash in emotions – the primary one being fear. She had felt her heart sink when she saw Andy on the club's security monitors lurking around outside. He knew she was in there thanks to the handy tracking device he'd planted on her.
She should have known better. She should have known that he would do something like that. He'd been that controlling since shortly after they'd married. He'd tried to control what she could wear, where she could go, and who she could see. And, of course, of the very few people he allowed her to see, she could never see them unless he was present to monitor her. She'd lost virtually all of her friends and had no life to speak of.
Cassie's life – such as it was – consisted of sitting at home when Andy wasn't there, making sure his dinner was hot and ready when he got home from work, and catering to his every whim on command. There were more days than she cared to admit that she wanted to kill herself and end it all. She didn't want to continue living like that. But it was her fear that kept her from actually doing it.
“I just feel so stupid for not thinking he'd plant a tracker on me,” she said. “I should have known. I should have left that purse behind with everything else.”
Damon handed her another beer and gave her a small smile. “Not your fault. You couldn't have known.”
“I should have.”
“That's the thing about abusers,” he said. “They convince you you're wrong. No matter what you do, you're always wrong. You should have done this. Shouldn't have done that. If only you'd thought of this or hadn't thought that. These assholes twist you up into knots until you actually start believing that bullshit. And that's what it is – bullshit. Punks like Andy get off on doing that to you. Fucking with your head. And because they're such weak little pieces of garbage – and they know they are – they have to control somebody they think is weaker than them. They're the lowest pieces of garbage on the planet.”
Cassie cocked her head and gave him a curious expression. “You sound like you have some experience with people like him.”
Damon's mind flashed back to his childhood. To what seemed like a lifetime spent in uncertainty and terror. He recalled being a child, of listening to the yelling and screaming in the other room. He remembered that, at first, it was raised voices behind closed doors under the cover of night. Eventually, those midnight shouting matches carried over into the daytime, and then into public. And, over time, those shouting matches turned to something more violent. Damon learned early on what shame and embarrassment truly were. They were feelings he remembered and carried with him to that very day.
He shrugged and opened a new beer. “A little. Enough to know his type.”
Cassie could see there was more to it than what he was saying. A lot more. She could see a pain and torment hidden deep within his eyes. It was something she could tell he took great care to keep locked up and hidden away from the world. But as soon as she'd seen it in his eyes, the curtain fell back into place and Damon's vulnerability disappeared once more. He looked at her with eyes that were hardened again, jaded, tempered by life.
“Enough to know his type?” she asked gently.
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
Damon got up off the bed and crossed the room, staring out of the w
indow at the darkened landscape beyond. Cassie stood up and crossed the room, standing behind him and put her hand softly on his shoulder. “Listen,” she said, “if you want to talk about something – anything – I'm here. You saved my ass the other night. The very least I can do is be a sounding board.”
Damon looked at her blankly. “Nothing to talk about.”
“I just thought that – ”
“Like I said, nothing to talk about.”
The cold rebuff felt a little like a slap in the face to her. No, they weren't dating, but after what they'd shared the night before, she thought they were a little more than just two strangers on the street. But the way he'd looked at her had been cold, like she was nothing. Meant nothing. It was similar to how Andy sometimes looked at her and it sent a piercing pain through her heart. Cassie stepped away and went back over to the bed and sat down again, saying nothing.
Merrick: Harlequins MC Page 28