“Fuck you, Killer. I’m going to kill you both. You fucked me up, and fucked my marriage. I’m going to kill both you fuckers.”
“Big vocabulary you’ve got there,” Dude said. “Why don’t you drop the knife and we can fight like men.”
“Fuck you, freak,” Hank said.
Hank feinted to the left, slashing as he went. Xander put his arm up to protect his face and earned himself a stinging slice. The fact the knife cut through his leather sleeve like butter freaked him out a little.
As small as he was, Hank moved fast. Before Xander could correct from being cut, Hank leaned right and ducked around Xander to stab at Dude.
Hank’s triumphant hoot didn’t bode well, and Xander spun to find the knife hilt-deep in Dude’s left side.
Dude looked down at it, surprised to find the knife sprouting from his body. Blood bloomed all around it as Dude went down to his knees.
Hank’s hysterical laugh filled the air as he pulled the knife out and jammed it in one more time before Xander came out of his surprised stupor and plowed Hank to the ground. Dude collapsed right next to them, the blankness of unconsciousness—or was it death?—in his eyes.
Xander lost it. Hank had killed the bigger than life, indestructible Dude, and he’d pay for that.
The next thing Xander knew, he was being cuffed. As they hauled him to a car, he noticed paramedics surrounding Dude and Hank. Emergency medical personnel were clumped around other bodies lying in the street, while cops cuffed those still on their feet.
Xander scanned the crowd, but still didn’t see Pixie or Lily. Hopefully they’d left when the fight broke out.
As the cops shoved him into a vehicle, he glanced to the side and saw a paramedic pull a tarp over Mel’s face. Xander slumped in the seat.
At the police station Xander went through the motions of being booked without much interest. When they allowed him to use the phone, he called Hunter.
They put him in a holding cell with some of the other guys, where he collapsed onto a bench.
“That was epic,” Itch said, obviously still high on the adrenaline buzz from the fight.
Chico sat next to Xander. “I thought you were dead.”
“Mel’s dead,” Xander said. “So’s Dude.”
“Fuck,” Tater said. The rest of the Huntsmen in the cell fell silent.
“Who’d you kill, Killer?” Wrench asked.
“What?”
“You got enough blood on you, you had to have killed someone,” Itch said.
Xander looked down at his hands. His knuckles were obviously bruised, even under the layer of blood—Hank’s blood. His clothes were covered in it, too. He didn’t remember killing anyone, and he hadn’t been anywhere near Hank’s body when the cops cuffed him. But he must have.
Xander shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it. He imagined Dude grinning and saying, ‘guess you finally earned your nickname.’
Over the next couple of hours some of the guys in the holding cell were bailed out, leaving one at a time. When the cop called for Chico, Xander stopped him.
“Can you find Gracie and give her a message?”
“Yeah. What’s her number?”
Xander scrubbed his hands down his face, then stared into his lap. “I never got it.”
Chico grunted—a sound which communicated what an idiot Xander was—and when Xander glanced up at him, Chico looked like he’d rather pull off his own fingernails than deal with the Ravagers again, but he said, “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Tell her to meet me at the Outpost tomorrow night.”
Chico nodded and left.
When Hunter and Allison finally arrived, there were only a handful of guys left in the cell.
“Hey, Caine,” the cop said. Xander looked up as the cop unlocked the cell. “You made bail.”
Hunter looked every bit the rich and powerful CEO he was, dressed in a suit that probably cost as much as some people paid for their monthly mortgage, his blond hair sleek, and an air about him that said don’t fuck with me or I’ll crush you. Allison looked like the consummate lawyer in her own suit and heels, her long blonde hair pulled back to look professional.
Xander felt every bit the filthy, murderous biker he was beside them as he collected his effects and they left the station.
Once inside the car, Xander slouched in the back seat. He wanted to call Gracie, be sure she was okay, but not only had he not gotten Gracie’s number, as he told Chico, but his phone wasn’t in the bag with the rest of his stuff. He must have lost it in the fight.
Hunter looked at him in the mirror. “What the hell happened?”
Good question. “I need to get my bike.”
“It’s been impounded,” Allison said. “You’ll have to come back for it.”
The last thing he ever wanted to do was come back to Galveston Island.
When the fighting broke out, Gracie grabbed Lily by the arm and ran. The middle of a biker brawl was no place for either of them.
Gracie had wanted to go back to the hotel, figuring Lily had delivered her message and they were free and clear. But Lily refused. She insisted they go to the clubhouse back in Houston because that’s where everyone would come afterward, and she’d get word about her family.
She’d included Hank under that umbrella. So much for clean breaks.
After a couple of hours Gracie had resorted to cleaning the kitchen to pass the time. That’s when the first of the Ravagers started returning to the club. The first back were Dallas and Buck.
Lily dove off the couch. “What happened?” she asked.
“Let them get in the door, Lily,” Gracie said, drying her hands on a dish towel.
A frisson of fear squiggled in her belly. Her first thought was for Xander. She sent up a silent prayer to the universe that he was okay. Surprisingly, she discovered she still had a shred of caring for her father and brother, too. While she didn’t want to have anything to do with them on an everyday basis, she didn’t wish them dead, either.
Both men flopped onto the couch. “Could we get a beer, Gracie?” Dallas asked.
If not for his bloody, exhausted appearance she’d have told him to get his own damn beer, but she took pity on him and grabbed a couple cold ones from the fridge. Despite admonishing Lily, she really wanted information, too.
She handed them their beers and waited while they took their first swallows, but after that she couldn’t wait anymore. “So? Where’s everyone else?”
Buck belched, then sighed. “Titan’s in the hospital. Skull fracture and concussion. Prez is there with him.”
“Hank?” Lily asked. Her voice trembled.
Neither Buck nor Dallas made eye contact with Lily. Buck drank more beer and Dallas picked at the label.
Lily got the message, and fell to her knees, wailing.
Gracie did her best not to roll her eyes. Leave it to her sister to be the drama queen. On the other hand, Gracie wondered if the man she loved had died if she’d be any stronger. Sure, Hank was an asshole of the highest caliber, but the heart was a stupid fool and once it fell in love convincing it otherwise was like trying to stop a charging rhino with a shoelace.
“He’s dead?” Gracie asked, needing verbal confirmation.
Dallas nodded, still not making eye contact.
Well, that was one problem solved. “Anybody else?” she asked.
“No other Ravagers. Some of the guys needed stitches or casts or other attention. Some got arrested.”
No other Ravagers. Did that mean others died? From other clubs? Gracie’s heart tripped, skipping a beat from fear. “Were there other deaths?”
The two of them looked sheepish, so at least they had the decency to realize the whole mess had been, what was the word? FUBAR?
“Mel from the Huntsmen. And the huge hairy blond guy, I think. Maybe another, I don’t know for sure.”
Maybe another. The leader of the Huntsmen was dead, and Xander’s best friend, too. What if Xander was the o
ther?
She went to the kitchen and pulled out her phone. She dialed Xander’s number. It rang and rang, but he never picked up. An awful queasiness settled into the pit of her stomach.
Right now, though, she had to deal with Lily. She poured a glass of water and grabbed a clean towel, then hurried out to her sister, trying to shove down her fear that she’d finally found a man she could love and now he was dead.
It took an hour or so, but she got Lily onto the couch and calmed down, or at least not hysterical anymore. About that time Prez showed up with more of the guys. In typical Prez fashion, he was a raging bull. If he could have snorted and pounded his hooves, he would have.
Clearly looking for a target for his anger, he surveyed the clubhouse and settled on Gracie. “What are you doing here, Grace?”
“Looking after Lily.”
He barked a sharp laugh. “A lot of good that’s done her. You talk her into leaving her husband, and then because she humiliated him in public, you got him killed.”
“Like that’s a big loss.” The words escaped her lips before she could contain them, and sent Lily into a renewed crying jag.
The rest of the men made themselves scarce, or at the very least froze in hopes that Prez would forget they were there. No problem there. He’d focused all his contempt on Gracie.
Prez gestured to Lily. “See what you’ve done? She never wanted to leave him. She loves him. Every marriage has issues. That doesn’t mean you give up on it, and you sure as hell don’t embarrass your husband in public like that.”
Gracie stood from the couch and cocked her fists on her hips. “You’re putting this on me? Seriously? You were jonesing for a fight. Looking for any little reason to break the truce with the Huntsmen. You just used your daughter’s shit marriage as the excuse you needed. Who defends the man who beats his wife, especially when the wife is your daughter? You have to be a special kind of messed up to do that.”
Prez lifted his hand as if to strike her, but managed to resist—barely. His nostrils flared as he breathed and his lips thinned to a nearly invisible line.
“What’s the matter?” Gracie asked. “Realize the irony of hitting someone for complaining about hitting?”
“You’ve lost your right to be part of this family,” Prez said. “I’ve put up with a lot from you, but you’ve proven you can’t be loyal.”
“Oh? And yet, here I am at the Ravager’s clubhouse, looking out for my sister.”
“You fucked one of the Huntsmen. The one who killed your brother-in-law.”
Oh crap. Xander had killed Hank? But did that mean Xander was alive?
Lily’s head came up, her eyes accusing Gracie as if Gracie had been the one to kill Hank. Gracie’s heart sank. Hank might be dead, and could never hurt Lily again, but Lily would forget all the bad stuff and worship his memory. Gracie would never get her away from the Ravagers now.
“Did Troy tell you that?” Gracie asked.
“Is it true?” Prez responded with a question of his own.
“Put crudely, but yes,” Gracie said.
Prez pointed an imperious finger at the door. “Get out of my sight. And don’t come back.”
She’d done just that years ago, and had it not been for Lily’s bad choice of husband, she would have stayed gone.
But then she never would have met Xander.
She turned for the door.
“Wait,” Prez said, grabbing her arm to stop her. “Better yet, stay. Maybe you can still be useful.”
Her heart sank into her gut. “No. I’m leaving.”
Some of the guys closed the space around her, blocking her way.
“Buck,” Prez said. “Call the Outpost. Tell them Gracie’s here and asking for Killer. I’ll make a trade.”
“What the hell?” Gracie asked. “You can’t hold me prisoner, and you can’t exchange me for Xander. This isn’t medieval Europe, you know.”
“Remember,” Prez said, pointing a finger in her face. “You started all this.”
Before she could respond, the sound of the warehouse door opening drew everyone’s attention.
Despite the warehouse being mostly dark, Gracie made out a young Hispanic man that she recognized as Xander’s friend from the Huntsmen, standing just inside the door. He looked terrified to be there, and she didn’t blame him.
Prez apparently recognized him too, from the way he literally growled at the sight. He marched toward the man, flipping on the warehouse lights as he exited the back room. The rest of the Ravagers followed him, and Gracie followed them.
Why the Hispanic guy didn’t turn and leave, she had no idea. She caught his eye and gave him a shooing gesture—a get the fuck out of here gesture—but he shook his head and gave her a come here gesture.
He wanted to talk to her?
But the Ravagers were on him before she could get there. They didn’t even take the time to talk to him, to ask what he wanted or even tell him to leave. Prez threw the first punch. Gracie heard the crunch of the guy’s nose from where she stood, and she winced. After that, they punched and hit, and when he fell to the floor in a fetal position trying to protect himself, they kicked him, too.
Gracie made a futile effort to pull the guys off him, yelling and shoving, and hitting them herself, but they ignored her.
Finally, she screamed, “Don’t kill him!” and that finally cut through the haze of their fury. A couple of them pulled Prez off the guy.
“C’mon, Prez, she’s right. There’s been enough killing today.”
Prez stood over the Huntsman, glaring at the guy whimpering and bloody on the floor. “Piece of shit,” Prez said. He kicked him one more time before turning to walk away. “That’s for Bug, and Titan.” The other guys followed.
Gracie crouched down by the Hispanic guy, who looked more like a cornered animal than a human being. She brushed the hair out of his face, smearing blood as she did. “What’s your name?”
“Ch-chico,” he stuttered.
“Why did you come here, Chico? You had to know it would be dangerous for you?”
He stared up at her, his face a mix of emotions, most of which she couldn’t read, but she saw hope, regret, anger, and longing mingled in his eyes. Tears ran down his face, mixing with his blood and dripping to the floor. Something must have clicked for him as he gazed up at her because his expression settled into anger. “I have a message for you. From Killer.”
Her heart soared. “He’s alive?”
“He is. He was arrested after the fight. Lost his phone. I made bail before him.” Chico took a deep breath and cringed. It clearly hurt to breathe. He looked ghastly pale.
He gagged, as if he meant to vomit so she rolled him to his side. He didn’t look good at all. She took his pulse—fast and thready. What had the guys done to him?
She pulled Chico’s shirt up to get a look at him, and she gasped. His abdomen was a bloated mosaic of bruises, an ugly dark purple. She prayed it wasn’t internal bleeding, but they could have easily ruptured something important in his gut when they kicked him.
“What’s the message, Chico?”
His face hardened. He coughed again, spitting a glob of blood and spit onto the floor. He looked like a man on the edge of death.
He sneered. “He said he’s done with you. Said you’re nothing but trouble,” he wheezed, fighting for breath. “If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened. Mel would be alive, Dude would be alive.” He huffed a weak laugh. “I’d be alive.”
Gracie gasped. His words stung as if he’d slapped her. “No,” she whispered. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her vision. Xander couldn’t possibly blame her for everything. That would mean Prez was right.
Chico’s eyes closed. His breathing was shallow. She checked his pulse again and had difficulty finding it. She pulled out her phone to call the ambulance. He’d probably be dead by the time they got there, but what else could she do with him? How did her father usually dispose of dead bodies? She had no doubt the
re had been some.
Before she could dial, Chico’s lips moved and the words he said stopped her cold. “He said to get lost.”
Those were Chico’s last words, telling her that Xander wanted her to get lost.
Suddenly, Florida didn’t seem far enough away.
Xander hunched into Hunter’s couch. He’d spent an hour in the shower, during which time his father had shown up. More than anything, Xander wanted to work his way to the bottom of a fifth of anything, and be left alone to wallow in misery. Mel was dead. Dude was dead. God knew where Pixie was. And Hank was dead, apparently by Xander’s hand.
He threw back another shot, welcoming the burn in his throat.
His father settled on the couch across from Xander. Allison sat next to Xander and Hunter took a chair. They surrounded him.
“Put the booze down for a minute, son,” Dalton said. “We need to talk about what happened.”
“Why?” Xander asked, pouring himself another shot.
“So we can decide how to fix it.”
Xander snorted, then drained his glass. “I killed someone. There’s no fixing that.”
“Did he deserve to die?” Dalton asked.
Allison cleared her throat. “The law says we don’t get to make those judgments.”
Dalton waved her off. “The law is flexible.”
“Especially if you have enough money,” Xander said.
“Exactly,” Dalton said.
The sarcasm went right over Dalton’s head. Xander had no desire to spend his life in prison, especially over the likes of Hank, so on the one hand, he appreciated his father’s philosophy, particularly if it kept him out of a cage—or off death row. On the other hand, Xander did have a moral compass and the fact that he’d killed someone, even if it was Hank, ate at him. Murder was still murder.
“Not that anyone would really want him back,” Xander said. “Except maybe Prez, and then only on principle.”
“So he did deserve to die,” Dalton said.
Xander ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess. He was a wife beating, drug running scumbag, but like Allison said, it’s not my place to decide if he should live or die.”
XANDER (The Caine Brothers Book 2) Page 9