Bill had shot Jester to save Ace.
Or maybe he’d done it for selfish reasons, but the end result was the same. Jester was bleeding to death, gasping like a fish out of water. Then he went still and that was it. Bill nudged the body aside and freed Ace’s wrists with a pocketknife.
“I should shoot you too, you dumb fuck,” Bill said. “Can you walk?”
Ace wasn’t sure he could stay conscious, let alone get up and walk. “Snipers,” he said, gesturing toward the hills.
Bill helped him to his feet. “My men took care of them.” When Ace swayed, his gut churning with nausea, Bill held him upright. “I have to get out of here before the cops come. Wipe your Colt and leave it with Jester.”
“Janelle,” he said, with difficulty. His mouth didn’t want to work.
“I don’t know where she is. Wipe the fucking Colt, you hear?”
“Yeah.”
Bill released Ace and waited for a few seconds. “You look like hell.”
Ace used his shirt to blot his face, which felt like raw hamburger. Then he stumbled toward the path and found his Colt. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the surface of the weapon. Bill was already on his way back to Salvation Mountain. Ace placed his gun on the ground, near Jester’s hand.
Rest in peace, buddy.
His Colt had been his best friend, his most prized possession. Hanging it up meant retiring from the business for good.
But would Bill let him go, after this favor?
He couldn’t worry about that now. His thoughts were muddled, his ribs aching. He had to find Janelle. He stumbled up the path Jamie had taken, hoping he could stay conscious long enough to see her again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tiffany stood at the edge of the canal, her blood pumping with adrenaline.
Should she jump? Run away? Stand her ground?
Pigpen looked terrible. He had dark bruises under both eyes. His nose was swollen and misshapen beneath a beige-colored bandage, his left hand wrapped in gray duct tape. Ace had really worked him over.
Tiffany had helped.
“I was hoping we’d meet again,” Pigpen said, lurching forward. He threw his left arm around her shoulders, using his injured hand to hold her in place. Then he stuck the barrel of the gun against her cheek and bared his discolored teeth. “You tied me up and drugged me, you dirty little whore. Now you’re gonna pay.”
Tiffany glanced down at the murky runoff in the canal. Maybe if they got a little closer, she could push him over.
He moved the barrel across her parted lips, laughing when she turned her head away. His breath had a strange chemical odor that reminded her of a public toilet. “On your knees,” he said, pushing her down.
Her hurt ankle gave out and she stumbled, smothering a cry of pain. She wasn’t going to blow this sick fuck. She’d rather eat dirt than take his disgusting penis in her mouth. The thought of performing a sex act at gunpoint made her shudder with revulsion.
No way.
She might be easy, but that was her choice, and she’d never let him take it away from her. Not without a fight. So she drove her fist into his ribcage, aiming for the injured area. Take that, motherfucker.
He grunted at the assault but he didn’t let go of her. He shoved her to the ground with his injured hand, forcing her into the position he wanted. The barrel of the gun bit into her neck, cold and deadly. He was wearing sweatpants, probably because his broken fingers couldn’t handle buttons easily. She bit his dick as hard as she could through the soft fabric.
“Bitch,” he screamed, hitting her across the face with the gun.
And everything went black.
The next thing she knew, she was flat on her stomach in the dirt. Her mouth tasted like blood and grit. She coughed, spitting out a red-tinged mixture. Her lips were swollen, teeth aching. Several seconds had gone by since he hit her. Now he was on the ground with her. He yanked down her leggings and tore her panties. She cried out in a hoarse voice, clawing the sandy earth. He might not be able to use his penis, but he had the gun. She kicked away from him and crawled to the edge of the canal.
He caught her easily. With one blow, he’d rendered her weak and helpless. She couldn’t do anything to stop him. She stared down the steep concrete slope and sobbed, blood-flecked saliva dribbling from her lips.
Then she heard a heavy thunk, and Pigpen fell sideways. He toppled over the edge of the canal and rolled down the slope, landing in the dark water with a terrific splash. His body started to sink and the current took him.
Tiffany gaped at the man standing over her. It was Rex.
He had a softball-sized rock in one hand, which he tossed into the canal. The water swallowed the evidence in one gulp. Pigpen’s shoes were still visible, traveling with the current. Then they sank below the surface and every hint of him was gone.
Rex slapped his palms together to brush off dirt. “Are you okay?”
Tiffany rolled over, touching her mouth with a trembling hand. Her lip was cut and swollen, but all of her teeth were intact. “I think so.”
“Then get up and fix yourself,” Rex said, glancing around warily.
She flushed at his curt tone, as if she was at fault for her state of undress. She pulled her leggings into place and rose to her feet, with some difficulty. Rex took a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave to her. She held it against her bleeding lip.
“You owe me a favor.”
She owed him two, by her count.
“My price for helping you is your silence,” he said, his expression grim. “Don’t talk about this to anyone. Not your friends, your coworkers or even your family.”
Tiffany didn’t argue. She was too shaken to say anything.
“You have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Good. If you get one, don’t tell him, either.”
She stared down into the canal, feeling numb.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and directed her gaze toward the hillside in the distance. “See that group of boulders? Your friend is there with her kid.”
Tears flooded her eyes at the news. “She’s okay?”
He grunted an affirmative. “She’ll ask about your lip. Tell her Pigpen hit you, and then you ran away from him. That’s it.”
She nodded her acceptance.
His attention was diverted by movement at the summit of another hill. They both watched as two men in black motorcycle masks followed a pair of White Lightning members toward the dirt road. It was difficult to see that far in the fading daylight, but the masked men appeared to have their guns drawn.
“You know who they are?” Rex asked.
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came with my friend, to look for her son.”
“You’re Dirty,” he said in a flat voice.
She didn’t deny it.
He fell silent as his fellow club members got on their motorcycles and took off. The masked men left in a separate vehicle. “Wait here a few minutes before you go to your friend. Not too long, though. The cops might come.”
She took the handkerchief away from her lip and held it out to him.
“Keep it,” he said.
Fresh tears filled her eyes. She retreated a step, embarrassed by her emotions. The sudden weight on her sprained ankle made her stumble.
He grasped her arm to steady her. “What’s wrong?”
“I twisted my ankle earlier.”
“Can you walk?”
“I’ll manage.”
He held on to her arm, frowning with concern. He seemed reluctant to leave her, despite her enemy-camp status. She stared back at him, fighting tears again. Her gaze dropped to the lightning insignia on the front of his vest.
He
released her arm and moved back, raking a hand through his dark hair.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“I was.”
They stayed quiet for a moment, studying each other. Tiffany couldn’t stop the tears from falling, so she didn’t try. She finally broke eye contact. “Go on,” she said, turning her face away. She studied the dark waters of the canal until she heard his retreating footsteps. He climbed into Pigpen’s truck and started the engine.
Then he was gone.
* * *
Janelle crouched between the boulders with her son, trembling from the close call.
She wanted to check on Tiffany, but she couldn’t leave Jamie alone. She couldn’t even think about what was happening to Ace. Despair settled over her like a dark cloud, heavy and familiar. She’d felt this way often. Doomed by dysfunction, born to lose. Having grown up in two abusive households, she didn’t believe in happy endings. Safety was an illusion, or a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Ace had been wrong; she wasn’t a cycle-breaker. She was a realist, just like him. Life was what you made it, but sometimes there was nothing to make. Then you had to count on luck and circumstance. She’d never had a damned bit of luck.
She still had hope for Jamie, though. He could break the cycle. He was smart, and strong, with a natural competitiveness that might give him the edge he needed to get ahead in this world. She pressed her lips against his unruly hair, praying for him. His eyes lost the far-away look and the color returned to his cheeks.
“Did my dad try to kill Uncle Owen?” he asked quietly.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Who told you that?”
“Ace. He said that Dad pointed a gun at Owen.”
Janelle hadn’t known that. Although she’d been in the shed nearby, she hadn’t witnessed the actual shooting. “You can ask Owen. He’ll tell you the truth.”
He fell silent for a moment. “I should’ve killed that guy.”
“No,” she said, her heart twisting.
“I didn’t really want to kill Ace. I wanted to kill the other guy, but I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
She hugged him close, aware that he’d be dead if he had.
“I’ll do it when I’m older.”
“No, you won’t.”
His stubborn expression indicated otherwise.
“You have a chance at a better life,” she said, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can go to college. You can get out, like Owen.”
“Don’t cry,” he said in a calm voice. “I’ll go to college.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle made her stomach drop. An expensive-looking SUV drove by. Janelle stayed very still, praying they wouldn’t be found. Two masked men emerged from the SUV and moved with stealth up the next hillside. A single gunshot blasted, vibrating through the air.
That bullet was for Ace. It had to be.
Her heart went cold at the thought.
The masked men came back with two White Lightning members, holding them at gunpoint. The club members climbed on their motorcycles and drove away. The SUV followed shortly after.
Tiffany’s car was parked at the dead end, the driver’s side door still open. A wrecked motorcycle was lying on its side. There was another vehicle to the east, way out by the canal. It was the red truck. She watched it weave through the sagebrush before disappearing.
She was about to go searching for Tiffany when another man came over the hill. Pebbles rained down the path at her feet. She shrank back behind the boulder with Jamie, her mouth dry. The figure stumbled toward the road. She caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and coarse black hair. He was dirt-streaked and bloody.
“Oh my God,” she said. It was Ace.
As soon as he reached the gravel road, he fell down and didn’t get up. Janelle rushed toward him, her pulse racing. She knelt beside his body and clutched his red-soaked shirt. He’d lost too much blood.
“He’s going to die,” Jamie said bluntly.
“I’m not going to die,” Ace mumbled.
“You’re covered in blood,” Janelle cried.
“It’s not mine. Help me up.”
She didn’t help him up, because she didn’t think he could stand. He rolled over on his own. His front looked even worse than his back. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He had rivulets of caked blood across his face and neck. He was almost unrecognizable.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She gaped at him in shock. He’d clearly gotten the sense knocked out of him. “I’m fine. Where’s Jester?”
He closed his eye. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Ace must have killed him. Instead of relief, Janelle felt...nothing. She stared at the man on the ground in a confused sort of apathy, as if he was a stranger. As if she hadn’t told him she loved him just a few short hours ago. Maybe she’d hit an emotional wall. That wall was impenetrable, like Ace’s cold blue gaze used to be. Only she was the one who couldn’t feel anymore.
She’d found a new self-defense mechanism: her heart had drifted.
A pale green Chevy arrived with several Dirty Eleven members in tow. They loaded Ace into the truck like a sack of potatoes. One of the men asked Janelle if she needed a ride. She glanced at Tiffany’s car and saw her best friend standing there. Tiffany’s clothes were dusty and torn, but she looked okay.
Thank God.
Janelle grabbed Jamie’s hand and walked toward Tiffany, overwhelmed with relief.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two weeks later.
Ace walked across the King’s Castle courtyard, a spring in his step. His face was healed up well enough now that he could visit Skye without scaring her. He strode toward the fountain, whistling a happy tune.
It was damned good to be alive.
He’d stopped to buy a pink mum for Skye on his way there. He’d also selected a bouquet for Shawnee, just to be nice. He was feeling generous.
When he arrived at the fountain, Wild Bill was sitting next to Skye. She jumped to her feet and into Ace’s arms, giggling with a joy that was contagious. Pressure built behind his eyes. He held her as long as he could, savoring her embrace.
“How’s my girl?” he asked, setting her down.
Good, she signed.
He gave her the flower.
She smiled and signed pretty. Then she touched the bandage on his brow and studied his left eye. It was getting better. His eyelid had been swollen shut for several days. Now the swelling had gone down and his vision had returned. There was still a large, red blood fleck in the white part of his eye.
Hurt? she signed.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
She formed a sign he didn’t recognize and pointed to the pond.
“Ducks?” he guessed, making his hand quack.
She nodded eagerly.
Ace turned to Bill. They hadn’t seen each other since Salvation Mountain. Ace didn’t want to see him. Every time they met, Bill had a new offer Ace couldn’t refuse. His presence cast a pall on the visit.
“Shawnee taught her that sign,” Bill said. “Those for me?”
Ace had forgotten about the bouquet. He wondered how Bill felt about another man bringing Shawnee flowers. He suddenly regretted the strange impulse.
“The girl wants to see ducks,” Bill said.
They walked toward the duck pond together. Bill and Ace sat down on the bench while Skye fed the ducks at the shore.
Ace had talked to Skye on the phone twice last week. He’d told her he was okay, and that he probably wouldn’t have to go to a long time out after all. While he’d laid low and recovered from his injuries, the police had run tests on his Colt. They’d matched the bal
listics evidence to several other crime scenes, as expected. When investigators questioned Janelle, she identified Jester as Shane’s killer.
Ace had given her a heads up about the Colt. He hadn’t asked her to lie for him, but he was glad she had. The cops probably didn’t really give a damn who’d killed a two-bit criminal like Shane. The Riverside DA shut that case.
Bill circulated rumors that the Aryan Brotherhood had been eliminating its connections to White Lightning. Word on the street was that Jester and Chum had been killed by AB. Pigpen, a possible third victim, was still missing.
AB was responsible for a lot of murders, so the story was believable and no one in White Lightning would dispute it. Jester had pissed off a lot of his own men during his reign. Some of them were glad he was dead. The new president was older and less volatile. He didn’t want to start shit with Bill, who’d solidified his reputation as a take-no-prisoners motherfucker. White Lightning and Dirty Eleven would always be rivals, but they’d entered a period of uneasy peace.
Ace was off the hook. He didn’t have to turn himself in, and there was no longer a price on his head. He’d watch his back out of habit, but he felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Bill seemed pleased by the outcome, as well. He’d gotten rid of Jester and gained respect within the MC community. The Dirty Eleven members who’d been grumbling about Bill’s casino deal supported him again. Jigsaw and the other guys were happy with the resolution. Ace was lucky to be alive.
It was crazy how everything had worked out.
Well, almost everything.
Janelle didn’t want to see him anymore. She’d told him that she couldn’t have a relationship with him because she had to put her son first. The danger to Jamie was the ultimate dealbreaker. Ace should have expected this blow, but he hadn’t, and he was crushed. His feelings toward her hadn’t changed. They would never change. As long as she walked on this earth, he would love her.
He’d decided to love her from afar, which wasn’t very satisfying. He’d lost Janelle, but he hadn’t lost Skye, and he hadn’t lost his freedom. Two out of three wasn’t bad. He still had his memories, and his right hand.
Shooting Dirty Page 27