by Isabel Wroth
“Please tell Mrs. Dominguez, we’re happy to oblige.” Nasa growled, getting murmurs of agreement from the rest of the club.
“What about Ghost? Any idea where he’s at?” Top asked.
Duke made a negative sound, flipping the white board he had over to show the photos lined up neatly around a large map of Austin. Each of the twelve photos had a pin stuck in it, with color coordinated pins in different areas of the map to say where that Leviathan had gone over the last three weeks with the most frequency. Dates, times, locations, but there was a blank page that just said GHOST on it with a big question mark and devil horns. His pins were red, but there were no red pins on the map.
“The guy lives up to his name. The first batch of Leviathans arrived six weeks ago. The second group came up four days ago. They’re staying in two different locations, Roach Motels, six guys here, six here.
“We never saw more than six at either location, and those that went out, came back in. Nate and Tate got trackers on all their bikes, and we’ve narrowed down three locations where they spent the most time. They got drunk at a couple local bars, but didn’t say shit about Ghost and, if he was there, we have no idea what he looks like. Hate to say it, but we’ve got next to nothing on Ghost’s location. It would help if we had a picture to use as facial recognition.”
“I can help with that.”
Twenty pairs of eyes whipped around to look at her and in the sudden silence, Ripley reminded everyone she had done a photo shoot for Sam. For Ghost, and seventeen women. Her computer at the spa had been completely destroyed in the shooting, but Ripley had backed up the files on a thumb drive and taken them home to upload on her laptop, hoping to do photoshop the pictures and present Sam/Ghost with an array of cover options for his books. Nasa looked at her like he couldn’t have been prouder before he hunched over his workstation and got to hacking into her system.
Then, surprisingly, Duke spoke up. “Where the hell do you find these badass little bombshells? I want one.”
“Shut up, himbo.” Stone drawled.
Duke gave a wide eyed blink Ripley supposed was meant to be innocent. It didn’t work very well.
“What? What’d I say?”
Top shook his head with an amused little snort. “Himbo, give Mrs. Dominguez a heads up that we got a crew coming to get our bikes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Saint sat with Ripley and the kids on the couch, letting his head fall back so he could look up into her beautiful face. “You good?”
“Yes. Just tired.” Her fingers curled and uncurled through the long strands of his hair, electrifying his nerve endings even as it relaxed him. “You know,” she murmured, her ruby red lips curving as she glanced down to where Lyon still snoozed against his chest. “You never did tell me what it is about having kids that scares you.”
Of course she hadn’t forgotten about that. Saint gave a sigh, shaking his head slowly while he gathered his thoughts.
“The shit I do, the people I hunt, this isn’t the first time it’s followed me home. Certainly been the worst, but not the first, and it won’t be the last. The kids, they’re so small and vulnerable. I don’t know that I can be a good father. My only role models were the guys who ran the foster homes and they weren’t worth shit. I couldn’t be worse than Roar.” Saint carefully pulled Lyon’s little sweatshirt in closer around his body, worried the coolness of the room was too much. “Doesn’t he have a green blanket around here somewhere?”
“Yes. I’ll get it in a minute,” Ripley murmured, amusement feathering through the tenderness of her expression. “Saint?”
“Hmm?”
“You may not have had great role models growing up, but I happen to think the one you have now is pretty amazing.” Saint could taste the softness of her smile, the love she felt for him in the kiss she touched to his mouth. “You’ll be a great dad someday.”
He was confused as to what she meant about his current role model. Course he was somewhat distracted watching her get up, hips swaying as she walked across the room, Harper held carefully to her chest, to rummage politely through Ever’s diaper bag.
“How you holdin up?”
Top plonked a chair down in front of him, straddling it so they could look at one another face to face, and like a slap of ‘duh’ Saint got what Ripley meant. Saint had come on with Perdition at eighteen years old, wet behind the ears, cocky as shit, hurting in places he knew only Raid and Roar could understand.
All three of them had wanted the family Perdition promised. A place to belong, where their violent urges could be put to good use, while at the same time getting to ride free and wild on the motorcycles.
Top had taken one look at all three of them and told them straight up, no college, no club. Saint had been pissed, ready to walk out with Roar, feeling like Top was telling them they were too dumb to join up. But Raid had kept them cool. Raid had gotten them to realize the opportunity Top was actually offering them. On Perdition’s dime, all three of them had gotten into UT with a full ride.
Raid had fucked up one night, just a few days over nineteen and he’d gotten thrown in jail for involuntary manslaughter, protecting a hooker from being beaten by her pimp. Rather than serve hard jail time, Raid had done the smart thing and went into military service.
Saint remembered the day Top had come to him and Roar and told them Raid had been killed in action. Standing with his hands on both Saint and Roar’s shoulders, his voice gruff with his own sadness, Saint wouldn’t ever forget what Top had said.
“It’s not fair and it’s not going to be alright for a long time. But we’ll get through this. As a family.”
Saint was pushing thirty-six now. Eighteen years with Perdition and he hadn’t ever thought of Top as a father figure. He’d been a boss, an ass kicker, the lawmaker within the club, the guy who wrote checks and ripped you a new asshole when you screwed up.
Looking at the old man now, seeing the changes those eighteen years had brought, the difference in the man Saint remembered at age eighteen until now, he realized if he turned out to be half the father Top was his kids would be alright.
Life wasn’t fair and it wasn’t always going to be alright. But no matter what, he could get through it.
With his family.
His throat got tight for a whole new reason, glancing at Ripley where she hung back, talking softly with Wren. Lyon’s green baby blanket was thrown over her shoulder while she did that figure eight rocking motion thing for Harper.
“I’m good. Sore in all the wrong places but I’ll live. You look like shit. What’s going on with you, Top?”
The Prez gave a long sigh and scrubbed his hand through his cropped hair, the tuft of his beard jutting out a ways before he settled and gave a shrug.
“Over fifty years of smoking just catchin up to me. Had a cough a while back that I couldn’t shake. Made myself go in to the Butchers when I started hacking up blood. They did some tests, found a cancerous tumor in my left lung. Caught it early, so treatment’s been ongoing.
“Not doing the usual shit either, Athena’s been helping me on the sly with her hippie chick stuff. Seen significant shrinkage of the damn thing, but quitting the smokes is actually hitting me harder than the cancer.”
Saint felt like Top had just planted the toe of his steel-tipped boot right in his chest. He struggled to respond, his voice coming out as a dry croak.
“You never said-”
Top shook his head, reaching up like he was grabbing the cancer off his chest and throwing it away from him. “Just gettin old. Ain’t nothin to worry about right now. We got bigger problems. Ripley’s not pregnant, right?”
The suspicious tone of Top’s question made Saint jolt hard enough to make Lyon give a sleepy little growl, but thankfully he didn’t wake up.
“What? No.Why you askin me like that?”
Top blew out a relieved breath, unable to hide the warmth that blossomed in his eyes when he looked over at Ripley.
“You both g
ot the goo goo eyes for the kids. She’s a natural. It’d be nice if we could have an actual wedding at the clubhouse.” Top’s goofy ass smile turned into a scowl, “Once it gets rebuilt. Course, I haven’t seen a ring on Ripley’s finger, but since I know you’re not a dumbass, I’m assuming that’s because you’ve been a bit…busy.”
Saint couldn’t help but grin at the fisheye he got from the old man. “Busy. Yeah. I’ll uh, get to work on a ring ASAP, Top.”
He looked over at the woman in question, wondering if Roar and Raid felt this weird melting sensation in their chests when they looked at their woman. Saint let his eyes wander over Ripley leisurely, thanking every god he knew the name of for having wised up before it was too late.
All the dumb shit he’d done to push Ripley away, the hurtful things he’d said to her that night at the bar so many months ago, his jealousy rearing its ugly head with Gage, then later with Sam the killer in disguise…so many times he’d fucked up and hurt Ripley. So many things had gone wrong. Yet here she was in it with him, heart and soul.
“Almost done downloading the pictures.” Nasa announced.
With this news, Top got up and approached the whiteboard, stroking his beard while he gave the intel a closer once over. After a moment, Top picked up one of the markers and drew a line across the bottom of the board.
“We got a lotta shit we don’t know. So let’s start workin it out. Saint, you came home to report Ghost’s movement in our territory. The real Toad was dead as soon as I hired him, and Ghost took that as an opportunity to infiltrate our ranks and start setting up his game.” Top made a hash mark at the end of the line.
“Four days after you get back, Saint, Ripley hosts a private party with who we now know was Ghost. Princess, tell us about the party. How did Ghost find out about you? What services did you provide? How did you get paid? Everything you got.”
Ripley shook her head, crossing the room to sit down on the arm of the couch where Saint was still pinned down by Lyon. Saint curled his hand around the smoothness of her calf, squeezing in hopes that his touch might chase away the fear and uncertainty that had her so pale.
“He just walked in off the street and introduced himself as, Sam. He told me about his books, his plans for a few new ones, and gave me kind of a rough idea of what he needed. He said he had been calling around to all the spas in the area, but none of them had the facility to host a private party for seventeen women, while offering spa appointments and photography in the same building.
“I said yes, kind of thrown off a little when he started to specify his requirements for the event. Women only, no men allowed inside other than him, and the windows needed to be completely covered so no one could get a peek inside. He made it sound like he was a big deal, but for the money he was about to spend, I honestly didn’t care.
“Lunch was catered and brought in by a company called, Tea Thyme. He paid in cash for all seventeen of the women to get a pin-up photo shoot session, hair and make-up, and most of them got facials and massages. I had to call in extra help from women I’d worked with at my previous place to cover it all.”
Top nodded, extending his time line backwards and put a hash mark to write down the booking date of the event.
Duke, who in his silence had completely melted into the background, spoke up. It was a freaky talent, to be able to go unnoticed with such a flamboyant presence, in a room full of people until he purposefully drew attention to himself.
“Aside from a man having seventeen women on hand, did you notice anything odd about them?”
Ripley frowned as she thought hard, shaking her head as she shrugged. “A couple spoke French, I think. Only one of them spoke really good English and she was the translator slash organizer. They were all…unbelievably beautiful. Three of them were blonde, most brunettes. Um, they all had a tattoo in the same spot-”
“Tattoo?” Duke almost jumped forward. “What kind of tattoo? Where was it at?”
The barest hint of a blush painted Ripley’s cheeks, her tongue slicing across her lips left the red-stained swells shiny. “It was like a tribal octopus? The head below the arms, on their um pubic bone.”
Ripley wiggled a finger in the direction of her pussy. Saint swallowed thickly, having known almost immediately what she was talking about. The stamp of ownership the Leviathans put on the women they sold into sexual slavery.
Saint caught Duke’s eye and gave a tiny shake of his head, not wanting Ripley to freak that she’d had seventeen sex slaves in her place of business and not known it. She would feel guilty for not knowing, not helping them. Not doing something.
Knowing now after the fact was unimportant.
Duke was rubbing at his jaw, and Top had hooked his hands up under his armpits, staring at them all in turn. It was a look Saint was familiar with, one that meant defense time was over. Now, Top was organizing his players for the best offensive line.
Saint knew he was getting benched. He’d been shot and just barely recovered, then tazed and strung up like a slaughtered calf. And here Top came to tell him his assumption was correct.
Saint wanted to stand up, but Top snorted and waved at him to stay, towering over Saint with his eyes gone frigid. A grayish blue so cold, they were like ice chips.
“You’ve got more FBI, ATF, and DEA agents in your pocket than anyone else here. I need you to start making calls.”
Saint nodded, grateful that Top wasn’t excluding him for all his failures. He had provided more questions to the club than answers, looked Ghost in the eyes for months without seeing him, and right now was no use except to make the phone calls necessary to take care of their prisoners.
“Those fuckers all give me a headache, I honestly don’t know how you do it, Saint. You work it out with them who has the bigger dick and set up a drop-off.”
To say he was surprised was somewhat of an understatement. All Saint could do was nod and say he’d handle it.
Top gave him a quick grin. “I know you will, boy. When this is done, we’re gonna have a talk.”
With that ominous command, Top wandered off and went back to staring at his time line. Ripley slid her fingers back into his hair, her smile soft, tired, and proud. He wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs and sleep wrapped around her, but he could feel his body stiffening up. He needed to get off the couch and get to work.
“It’s gonna be a long night, princess.”
Her eyes were soft when she nodded. “I know. Do you want some coffee? I hid my cup of berry cobbler if you want it.”
Much as it chapped his ass to not be part of the crew recovering their bikes, Saint wasn’t going to complain about being able to have Ripley within touching distance.
“Coffee would be great, but I need to get up first. Gettin stiff.”
Concern tainted the edges of her smile, but it didn’t falter. “No problem. I have some of your pain meds if you decide you need them. Athena? Could you come grab Lyon please?” Ripley got up and walked over to where Wren still hugged the wall, carefully passing Harper over and gave Wren’s arm a gentle squeeze.
He could hear some soft words spoken between them, Wren’s smile so sad it broke his heart. Broke Pen’s too, if the pissed off look on his face was anything to go by. Athena came to carefully peel Lyon off his chest, mischief sparkling in her odd purple eyes.
She didn’t say a word, retreating to the best piece of furniture in the whole place. The tractor tire sized Lovesac.
“Need a hand?” Raid had his hand out, ready to haul Saint to his feet.
It was going to suck, but he had to get up. Any longer in the comfortable couch cushions and he wasn’t going to be able to move. He clapped his good hand to Raid’s, seeing spots and biting back the urge to vomit as Raid drug him up in one powerful go. Raid stood there like a true brother and let Saint lean on him while his back spasmed. The tormented, stiff muscles threatening to twist him into a pretzel.
“Probably be a good idea to take those meds Ripley has for you, buddy,�
� Raid told him.
Saint managed to grunt, the radiating agony stealing his breath. When he was finally, slowly, able force himself fully upright, Ripley was at his side with a cup of coffee in one hand and one of his pain pills in the other.
“One should help without making you drowsy.” She offered tentatively, no doubt remembering those days when he snapped at her about being incapacitated.
Even moving to take the cup of coffee and the pill was hellish torment, but the relief in Ripley’s expression was almost worth it. He weaved a little on his feet before he got his arm around her shoulders, half leaning on her while he shuffled around like a cripple towards where Nasa had a row of clean phones waiting for them.
Damon was up and Saint was glad to see the guy tight-lipped and red in the face, shuffling just as bad as him. Dani snuck over while Damon had his back to her and quietly asked Ripley if she had any more pain pills.
“I used to be a nurse, so I don’t typically go around asking other people for meds. But Damon needs it, and he will never ask for one. I think he’ll take it if I throw out a lip wobble.” Dani said, trying to smile even though her eyes were wet with unshed tears.
“My purse is over there, the pink one. Take as many as you think he needs. There’s some muscle relaxers in there too, but they’ll make him drowsy.”
Dani scrunched up her nose. “He definitely won’t take those. Thank you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saint shook his head in disbelief while he watched Damon doing sit-ups and push-ups across the room. Granted, the guy hadn’t dislocated his shoulder or bounced around like a worm on a hook while they’d been strung up, but get real. The guy was a machine.
The only way Saint could even tell Damon was hurting at all, were the fine lines around his lips and the whiteness of his knuckles where he’d fisted his hands up by his ears to do his reps.