by Joanna Wylde
We had to take care of this fucker and do it in a way that wouldn’t raise any questions. Gage was already turning away, making sure that Handsy-boy couldn’t get a look at his face.
I needed a diversion.
Up to this point, I’d seen Sadie as annoying and pitiable, but she chose that moment to make herself useful.
“I’m gonna puke!” she wailed, turning toward Talia frantically. Her friend—also drunk off her ass by this point—started laughing and then Sadie exploded.
Literally.
I’ve never seen so much barf come out of one human being, and that includes the time six of the brothers got food poisoning from some bad macaroni salad. She was spraying everyone and everything, including Talia, who went from laughing to screaming in an instant, pointing and yelling like a fuckin’ banshee.
Empathetic fuckers that they were, the Nighthawk guys lucky enough to be out of range seemed to find this hilarious, Marsh and Hands included. I edged toward them, keeping an eye on Handsy-boy as a prospect came running with a hose. He passed me and I took the opportunity to “trip” over the hose, crashing into the snitch as hard as I could. We hit the pavement together hard, and I’m not gonna lie—it hurt like a sonofabitch.
The fuckers around us laughed even harder.
“Jesus,” I moaned, rolling to my side as I tried to catch my breath. Hands’s face was right next to mine, mouth slack. I watched as someone reached down, checking the pulse at his neck.
“Out cold,” a man said, sounding vaguely pleased by this news. I looked up to see one of the older brothers—part of the pre-Marsh crew, I guess, because he wasn’t wearing a shiny new cut—kneeling next to us.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about that,” I whined, trying to sound harmless and sincere at the same time. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Prospect tripped you,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, although my side ached like a motherfucker. If I’d cracked a rib, Gage was gonna owe me. “He gonna be okay?”
Hands chose that moment to groan, blinking slowly.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. Time to bring it home.
“I tripped over the hose and knocked you down,” I told him, hoping I didn’t sound too pleased with myself. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that. Here, let me help you out.”
Slowly I rose to my feet, reaching down to pull him up behind me. He swayed, obviously still a little stunned. Damn, I got him good.
“How’s the head?” the Nighthawk brother asked. “You gonna be okay?”
Hands started to nod, then he winced. I exchanged a look with the older man, eyes flicking to his name patch. Cord. Huh.
“You think he needs the ER?” I asked.
“No ER,” Hands said quickly. “I just gotta sit down for a while.”
“I’m real sorry,” I said again. “No hard feelings?”
Hands stared at me, and I could see he was having trouble tracking. I really needed to buy Sadie some flowers, because this couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted it. Sometimes the good guys actually win.
“Uh, no prob . . . fuck . . .”
“Let’s get him home,” Cord said. He turned to look around, spotting another prospect. “Get your ass over here!”
The kid hesitated, as if wondering whether he should listen to Cord. That confirmed it—there were definitely two factions, and this guy wasn’t on Marsh’s side. Good to know. The big man cracked his knuckles and spoke again. “Get your ass over here. You’re not in the fuckin’ club yet, cocksucker.”
Interesting—how the hell had Marsh come into power with this guy around? Didn’t add up.
“Take this loser home,” Cord said, nodding toward Hands. “You can use the truck.”
The prospect leaned over, grabbing Hands under the arms to drag him out.
“Want some help?” I asked. “Feel kinda responsible.”
The prospect looked to Cord again, silently asking for permission this time. Better. It was already clear that we’d have to clean house at some point, but this particular brother gave me some hope that it wouldn’t be a totally lost cause.
“What’s your name?” Cord asked.
“Levi,” I told him. “Just came by for the party with my cousin, Cooper. Talia—that girl over there—she invited us.”
Cord nodded, looking faintly disgusted.
“I’m sure he could use the help with this piece of shit,” he said. “Thanks.”
And that was that. I helped the prospect carry Hands out to a battered old truck parked on the far side of the building. He was conscious but not particularly alert as we tossed him into the backseat. Perfect.
“Thanks for the help,” the young prospect said, firing up the engine as I took the passenger seat. “He’s small but he’s heavy. I’m Cody, by the way.”
“Good to meet you,” I said. “Sorry about this.”
“Not your fault. I’m pretty new, but stuff like this happens all the time. That girl always pukes, too. No idea why they keep letting her come around—we always have to clean up after her.”
That’s your fuckin’ job, prospect. This guy would last about ten minutes at the Armory.
“Yeah, that’s weird. So how long you been with the club?”
“Only a couple weeks,” he admitted. “They’re looking for new members, though, and it’s always sounded kind of fun. I’m saving up for my bike right now.”
It took a minute for his words to sink in.
“You don’t have a bike?”
“Well, I’ve got a dirt bike, but nothing street legal. Marsh said it was okay, so long as I get one in the next month.”
I had literally no place in my head to put this information. Fucking hell, the club wasn’t just dysfunctional . . . it wasn’t even a real club. No wonder Pipes had issues. He must be losing his mind, hearing about shit like this, powerless to do a damned thing to stop it. We passed through town and turned down a gravel road off the highway, stopping after half a mile at an isolated trailer. I bit back a pleased smile—couldn’t have asked for a better setup. I’d head out here later tonight and take care of this fucker, easy.
Almost too easy. Was it some kind of trap?
“Here we go,” Cody said. “Hands, you got a key?”
“S’unlocked,” the man in the backseat managed to say. “No worries.”
Cody gave me a concerned look.
“You think he’s gonna die here, we leave him?” he asked. I shrugged.
“You got an order to take him home,” I said. “That means we bring him home. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later we had Hands laid out across his couch, and I’d even covered him in an old afghan I’d found tossed across the back of a chair. I’m thoughtful like that.
“Back to the party now?” Cody asked. I nodded.
“Yeah, gotta figure out how to get my date home. She’s kind of fucked up.”
“Who’re you with?” he asked, eyes lighting up. I could’ve laughed, the poor kid looked so desperate.
“Sadie,” I said shortly.
“Sadie the Sprayer?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. Fuck, not even the prospects wanted her.
“Yeah. Sadie the Sprayer,” I admitted.
“Hope you like barf,” the kid said, snorting. “She’s hot, but watch out—that chick is disgusting.”
Christ. No wonder she needed Talia to find her dates.
• • •
I wasn’t able to shake Sadie until nearly three in the morning. The good news was I managed to get the Princess of Puke home without her falling along the way. She’d even sobered up a bit, probably because none of the booze managed to stay in her for long.
Fucking hell, but the club owed me for this one in a big way.
I got back to the hotel first, so I settled in to watch some TV and wait for Gage. He showed up around four a.m., looking rough.
�
�Have fun with Talia?” I taunted softly, sitting up to grab my boots. Still a lot of work ahead of us for the night—Hands was waiting.
“Fuck off.”
“Did you know they call Sadie ‘the Sprayer’?”
Gage shook his head, and he had the grace to look sheepish. “Only met her once before, and she wasn’t that drunk. Sorry about that—I had no idea what you were in for.”
I nodded, accepting his apology.
“What’s the story with Hands?” he asked.
“Took him home with the prospect, so we know where he lives now. We can go over there and talk to him, then bag him up for Rance. Nice to have a witness that I left him safe and sound hours ago. Nothing to connect me when he disappears. You ready to go?”
Gage sighed, reaching for the mini-fridge. He pulled out a Red Bull, offering it to me silently. I shook my head, knowing the adrenaline would wake me up once we got to work on our victim. Hopefully he’d be alert enough to talk. Gage popped the can open and chugged it.
“Talia tire you out, old man?”
He flipped me off, then grabbed a backpack and pulled out a snub-nosed pistol.
“Let’s go.”
• • •
Ten minutes later we were driving toward Hands’s trailer in a little SUV Gage produced out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure how he got it and I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask. I also didn’t ask about the tarp, the duct tape, the two metal bats, or the pliers—I trusted he knew what he was doing and that he hadn’t left a trail behind us.
Hopefully there wouldn’t be any complications, but if there were, our cover was that I’d lost my phone and we’d come out to look for it. I’d mentioned it to Sadie, and she’d even helped me hunt for it as we left the party.
“Nice place,” Gage said dryly as we pulled to a stop. No lights on inside, no signs of life at all.
“Fuck, I hope he’s not dead or something,” I said as we walked toward the door.
“Nah, he didn’t hit that hard. You take point, I’ll cover.”
Hands didn’t answer the door when I knocked, but I’d left it unlocked. Opening it slowly, I saw the fucker was still laid out on the couch, sleeping like a baby. A really ugly, Nazi baby.
I’d expected more of a challenge.
“Inside,” I told Gage. He followed me in, keeping his gun close as he did a quick search of the trailer. I wasn’t carrying these days—that’d be a one-way trip back to Cali if they found it. My parole officer might be on the club payroll but he wasn’t a miracle worker.
Gage came back into the living room, then jerked his chin toward our target. You ready?
Yeah, I told him with a nod, taking up a position out of his line of fire, but close enough I could jump the fucker if he tried to pull something stupid.
“Wake up, asshole,” Gage said. Hands didn’t move. Shit, did he have brain damage or something? The fall had knocked him out . . . That’d suck. I mean, it wasn’t like the guy had much of a future ahead of him or anything—not after what he’d done to Bolt—but we needed answers first.
“Hands—we’re talkin’ to you,” I said, kicking the couch. The man stirred, frowning as he opened his eyes. I clocked the instant he saw the gun pointed at him, because his entire body jerked before going very still. Handsy-boy might’ve been sleeping before, but he was sure as shit awake now.
“Oh fuck,” he said, staring at Gage. Guess that solved the question of whether he’d recognize him. “Fuck!”
In an instant, Hands launched himself across the room toward Gage, obviously aware he wouldn’t be talking his way out of this one. I jumped for him, tackling him before he could get close. There was no real question who’d win, of course. I was a big guy, and the little rat didn’t stand a chance. That didn’t stop him from fighting like his life depended on it, which made sense. It did.
We scrabbled across the floor, crashing into the coffee table. I heard the sound of something breaking, which sucked because you don’t want to leave a trail at times like this. Now we’d have to torch the place. That pissed me off, so when I got the chance I let him have it, shoving my knee hard into his balls.
Hands screamed, going limp as I straddled him, catching the front of his shirt to jerk his head up.
“Your call how bad this needs to be,” I snarled. “Play nice and it won’t hurt so much.”
He answered me with a head-butt and my nose crunched. Grunting, I slammed his head down into the floor, then caught him across the cheek with a full-power punch. Sweet fire tore through my knuckles, balancing the pain of my nose and clearing my mind. I hit him two more times, then thumped his head against the thin carpet before I realized Gage was shouting.
“Jesus, Painter! He’s out again—let it go!”
I turned to glare at him, snarling.
“Stop,” Gage said, his voice like ice. It cut through the haze and I dropped my arm.
“Shit,” I said, coming back to myself. I looked down at the man’s mashed and bloodied face. “Ah fuck. Sorry about that.”
“You got some anger management issues,” Gage observed, frowning.
“He broke my fuckin’ nose,” I said, poking at it tentatively. Ouch. Then I looked around. Fucking hell—there was blood all over the floor, shit broken . . . “This sucks.”
“Yeah,” Gage said, frowning. “Gonna have to burn everything. I’ll make it look like an accident, though.”
“Sorry about that.”
He shook his head. “Don’t apologize—getting out clean was a long shot, and once you started bleeding it was all over. That’s on him. No worries.”
I stood slowly, then looked from Gage to the unconscious, broken man lying on the floor. “No offense, bro, but telling me no worries when we’re gonna torch a guy’s place before killing him is kinda fucked.”
Gage snickered, so I flipped him off. That set him laughing for real and then I joined him, because it really was kinda funny in a sick way.
“I’ll go grab the tarp,” I told him, standing stiffly. “And the duct tape. Knowing our luck, the fucker’ll wake up halfway to Bellingham and try to crash the car.”
“Can’t blame him for fighting back,” Gage said, shrugging. “I mean, he knew the minute he saw my face that we’d have to kill him. He’s a snitch but he’s not stupid.”
“Smart fuckers don’t snitch.”
“Fair enough.”
• • •
“Who ya workin’ for?”
I stood in the back of the room, watching as Rollins—the Bellingham sergeant at arms—smiled down at Hands. I’d met him a few times and he’d never struck me as overly sane, but watching him work on Hands?
Yeah, this was some fucked-up shit.
I’d pulled in around nine that morning, and we’d been questioning the snitch for close to five hours now. He hadn’t broken, which blew me away. The things Rollins could do with a razor blade . . . let’s just say the fucker scared me, and I don’t scare easy.
Hands was tough, though—he obviously knew we had to kill him just as soon as he talked, which meant we couldn’t get the information with false promises of safety. This was about making him suffer enough that he wanted to die. We wouldn’t let that happen until we’d gotten what we wanted and he had to know it.
Clearly the snitch wanted to live. A lot.
He screamed again as Rollins carefully peeled back the skin on his arm. For an instant I felt sick to my stomach, but I managed to steady it. He set Bolt up, sent him to prison. Not like he didn’t deserve it.
“Jesus, just fuckin’ talk already,” Rance muttered, frowning. “Hate this shit.”
The screaming continued, and then it abruptly ended. Fuck. He’d passed out.
“How far you wanna go with this, boss?” Rollins asked, stepping back and cracking his neck. Blood dripped from the gloves covering his hands. “You know I can break him, but I got a feelin’ it’ll take time. He’s strong.”
Rance cocked his head, considering. He had all the time in the wor
ld, but I was under a ticking clock. Pic’d told me to stick around, hear what Hands had to say . . . But we’d staged that fire at the fucker’s place, which meant I really should get my ass back to Idaho sooner rather than later. I wasn’t overly worried about them connecting me with Hands, but you never know . . . Best to play it safe—especially now that I had Melanie waiting for me.
“What’re your thoughts, Painter?” Rance asked. I considered my choices. Complicating everything was the fact that I’d been awake for nearly thirty hours now, which meant I either had to pop something soon or crash.
“I need sleep,” I admitted. “Maybe you could keep trying while I catch a nap . . . I know Pic wants me to hear what he says, but I’m dead on my feet. It’ll take me a good six hours to get home, though, and I need to make it there tonight.”
“There’s a bedroom upstairs,” Rance said. “You can rest for a while and we’ll see how things go here. I’m not sure this fucker’s information is worth keeping him alive long-term. The sooner we get rid of the evidence the better.”
“Works for me.”
I gave Hands one last look, then walked out the door. The Bellingham Reapers didn’t have a full clubhouse like the Armory, just a house outside the city on some acreage. Right now it was mostly deserted, but upstairs I found Jamie, Rance’s old lady. She was probably around thirty-five, and the woman was fucking gorgeous. I’d popped wood the first time I met her a couple years back. Then I’d watched as Rance all but murdered a prospect for checking out her ass, which pretty much killed any lingering interest I might’ve had.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. I don’t know how much club business Rance told her, but she had to have heard the screaming. Not only was she hot, she was a damned good old lady—whatever she might be thinking, she wasn’t giving away shit.
“You should let me take those clothes,” she said, nodding toward my shirt and pants. I looked down, startled to see they were covered in dried blood. Fuck. Must be more tired than I’d realized—hadn’t even occurred to me that I might need to clean up.
“Bummer. I really liked these jeans.”
She gave a gentle laugh, rolling her eyes.
“Let me find you something clean to wear,” she said. “Then go upstairs and shower. Leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll take care of them. There’s a bedroom right across the hall—just make yourself comfortable. Sound good?”