by Debra Kayn
"What the fuck are you doing?" She wiggled, slapping at the hands around her waist. "Let me down."
Charlie carried her through the main part of the club to the cheers of Layrd and old man Nichols. She screeched. "You son of a bitch. I'm going to tell Raul what you're doing. You can't touch me without his permission. He'll kill you!"
"That's it, show her who the boss is." Layrd wolf whistled and leaned back on his stool to watch the fight.
Old man Nichols jabbed his finger toward Charlie. "Watch your hands, boyo. Raul will put a cap in your ass if you hurt her."
"Nichols, call—She clamped her lips together and screamed, prying at Charlie's hands—Raul."
"Can't do it, girly. An order from the president can't be changed." Old man Nichols glared at Charlie. "You hurt her and you'll deal with me, and then I'll let Raul kill you."
"Butt out, old man." Charlie hefted her higher in the air.
Her struggle wore her out. Charlie's grip never lessened and the next thing she knew they were outside and he was tossing her into the front seat of a crew cab truck. He got in her face. "Do not move."
"Or what?" She glared.
He stared her down. "You don't want to find out. Just shut up and buckle your fucking seatbelt."
"Like you care about my safety. You practically broke my ribs carrying me." She crossed her arms, refusing to do anything he asked her to do. "I almost hope I have a bruise, so I can show Raul. You think I'm trouble, wait until he goes after you. You won't be so badass then, will you?"
"Bitch doesn't know her place," he muttered, pulling the seatbelt out and stretching it around her hips, fastening her in the truck. "If you were my woman, I'd spank your ass good for fighting me."
"Screw you," she said, slapping his shoulder. "I'd never be your woman!"
Charlie growled and lifted her chin, looking her over. Up, down, left, right. "I prefer dark hair and someone who has a sweet mouth anyway."
She scoffed her disgust. "More like clean shaven and a set of balls between their legs."
Charlie growled. "I've killed men for saying less than that."
"With what? A sexually transmitted disease?" She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "This better be good, because when Raul gets back, I'm going to tell him how you put your hands on me and forced me out of the club."
"You do that, babe." Charlie slammed the door, cutting off her string of insults.
He stalked around the front of the truck and slid into the driver's seat. She clamped her teeth together as Charlie drove her out of the gate. She looked straight ahead. Dammit, Raul, this better be important, because I do not like what you're making me do, when I don't know where in the hell I'm going or what's going to happen to me.
Chapter Seven
Charlie pulled Crystal by the arm with his grimy, steel-like hand through the backdoor of Fresh Line Laundromat on the other side of town. Crystal inhaled the hot, humid air and peered around the area at the overflowing clothes baskets, rolling racks, and haphazard magazines piled on the floor with apprehension. Her skin under Charlie's hand perspired and she yanked her arm, finally breaking free.
She planted her feet. "What are we doing here?"
"Club business." Charlie reached for her.
She stepped away from his hand and rubbed her arm. "Whatever. Just don't touch me. I can walk on my own and follow you around if that's what you want without you leaving bruises on me."
He removed his phone, held it in front of her face, and said, "You cause any trouble, my thumb will push the button, and Prez will know you're being a pain in my ass."
"Fine." She shifted to keep him from grabbing her again. "But if anything happens to me, I'm taking you down with me, and so help me if I survive, I'll tell Raul it was your fault."
Charlie face reddened and he glared at her before answering, "Fine."
After a thirty-second standoff where Charlie seemed to doubt her answer before deciding to trust her, she followed him further into the building, down a hall, and to an office. She stopped in the doorway of a small room. The hair on her nape prickled and she wanted to turn around and get out of there.
A woman of Mexican descent, around forty—maybe older, lifted her gaze and came out of the chair. "Get out. Get out. Get out!"
The vehemence behind her words matched the change that came over her face when she saw she had two visitors. At first glance, the woman was striking with long black hair, bangs pulled back on the top of her head and held with an elaborate silver rose barrette. Her heart shaped face went from soft and welcoming to pissed-off Latino at the sight of Charlie. Crystal pressed her hand against the doorframe, prepared to propel herself backward and out of the room if the anger rolling off the woman turned into anything besides yelling.
"Shut up, woman. Got a job for you from Prez." Charlie stepped forward and braced his hands flat on the top of the desk, which put him at the same height as the woman. "He wants you to watch his woman. He'll pick her up in two hours. Do not let her out of your sight."
The woman gave a tight nod, pursing her lips, and raised her chin. Crystal darted her gaze between her and Charlie, the tension thick enough to choke her. She did not want to stay here, not with this woman. Not away from the club, where she at least felt safer, even though she only trusted the Lagsturns a smidgeon more than she trusted this woman.
She stepped inside and tugged on the back of Charlie's vest. "Let me go with—"
"No." Charlie turned, grabbed her jaw, holding it tightly in his grasp. "You're staying here, and you're not going to cause me any more trouble."
She jerked, but his grasp on her face held her from moving away. The hardness in his eyes frightened her, and she stopped struggling. She wanted to leave and go back to the club, but she also wanted away from Charlie. Without Raul to protect her, there wasn't much she could do but trust Raul's reasons behind today's mysterious request.
Charlie's grip eased and he patted her cheek. "Be a good girl for a change and wait. If you give Juanita any problems, she has my permission to shoot you."
She rocked back on her heels and jerked her gaze to Juanita. The woman opened a drawer, reached inside, and brought out a pistol and laid the weapon on the desk. She swallowed. Shit.
Charlie's mouth curved into a satisfied smile and then he left the room, leaving Crystal without a way of escaping. Her heart raced and her chest tightened. Sweat broke out across her forehead. How was she going to survive two hours here without any protection?
She wasn't. The first chance she found to escape, she'd run.
The hell with Charlie threatening her or Raul ordering her around. She'd bide her time, and make contact with Raul later tonight and have him pick her up. Then she'd tell him exactly what she thought of him putting her in the position where anything could happen.
The woman remained behind the desk. Crystal lowered her gaze to the pistol. First, she had to get away from this woman.
"Close the door, please," Juanita spoke softly, more gentle and feminine than she had before.
Without turning her back, Crystal followed the orders and stood against the wall, well away from the desk. She wasn't stupid. Raul gave her orders, but she had no idea if Charlie followed those orders or if he'd set her up.
"Sit, please." Juanita pointed at the empty chair and sat down herself. "What is your name, dear?"
Knowing it was better to play along as the agreeable visitor than the hostile prisoner; she side stepped to the chair and sat. "Crystal."
Juanita leaned against the desk and propped her elbows on the surface. "Relax. You're safe. Nobody here is going to harm you if you don't cause any problems."
"Safe?" Crystal rubbed her hands along the top of her thighs. "You're telling me that it's perfectly normal to have someone storm into your office, demand you hold me prisoner—you have a pistol laying in front of you that I'm pretty damn sure you know how to use—and you're telling me I'm safe? Lady, you're delusional."
Three beats went by, and Juanit
a leaned away from the desk and laughed, a tinkling melody of amusement that put Crystal on the edge of her chair. "Listen. Let me go, and I'll wait outside. When Raul comes, I'll tell him I forced my way out and—"
"No." Juanita shook her head and lost her smile. "My loyalty is to Raul, not the Lagsturns. Do you understand what I'm telling you…mi vida?"
Every muscle in Crystal's body constricted at the use of the endearment. The only way Juanita would know what Raul called her was if he'd mentioned the name, which meant Juanita knew Raul well. Crystal glanced away, overwhelmed at the anger rising in her. The last thing she wanted to do was spend time with a woman from Raul's past.
She glanced back at Juanita. Could this woman still be involved with Raul? She'd been away for months, and wasn't aware of what Raul had done while she was away or who was warming his bed at the club.
She clamped her teeth and nodded. Oh, she understood perfectly.
Her position in Raul's life meant nothing to Juanita. Juanita reduced her to bitch status, and left her to flounder with the knowledge that she wasn't the only one privy to Raul's private life anymore.
"Good." Juanita picked up a cell phone, swiped the screen, and handed the phone across the desk. "Then you may speak with Raul. Make it short. It's a pre-pay. I'm not generous enough to pay for a long conversation between lovers."
She raised the phone to her ear and watched Juanita. The whole situation felt like a setup. The ringing stopped, and a flash of warmth came over her. He was her lifeline.
"Raul?" she whispered.
"Yeah, I'm here," Raul said.
"I want out of here." She never took her gaze of Juanita who'd taken her attention off Crystal and pretended to read the papers on her desk. "Like ten minutes ago."
"You're safe." Raul paused. "The club isn't safe for you right now."
Weighted worry settled at the pit of her stomach. "What are you talking about?"
He'd left her at the club. She could've locked herself in the room. The men left behind on today's ride would've protected her. Tango—the one person she knew was a threat to her safety—rode with Raul.
"I'd hoped to get you settled before dealing with this shit, but there's been a change of plans. Be ready in a couple of hours. We're riding out."
"With the whole club?" She pinched the hallow spot on her neck in worry. "To where?"
She was about ready to ask him another question when he didn't answer right away but then he continued. "This stays with you…"
"What does?" she said.
"We're going nomad."
The bottom dropped out of her world. She listened to the silence after Raul disconnected the call, unwilling to believe Raul would ride away from his club. He was Lagsturns' president. What happened to make him sever the ties to his family?
Chapter Eight
The silence behind the abandoned Armory heightened the rage sweeping through Raul. He fingered the 9 millimeter tucked in the back of his jeans, and reassured himself the safety was off and he was ready for anything. In five minutes, he had to meet with the leader of the Mexican Mafia on the U.S. side, solidify the time of pick up, pull off his story to the Lagsturns, and make it out of town with Crystal without getting them both killed.
No way in hell was he getting out of this alive if the speculations about Garcia knowing his identity were true. He'd be walking into a death trap.
Brad, the treasurer of Lagsturns MC, pocketed his phone. "True Blues MC confirmed the rumor. Garcia has the east side gangbangers doing his dirty work, and says they've got information on you. They're feeding the fish, saying you're a badge."
He schooled his reaction. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Brad widened his stance and looked him in the eyes. "No one throws that kind of shit around, and the gangbangers are standing by their word."
Raul attacked, shoving Brad against the side of the building and pinning him with his body, his knife at Brad's throat. "Are you questioning my loyalty, hombre?"
Brad lifted his chin and gritted his teeth, not moving. "No, Prez."
The blade of the knife bit into the sensitive skin at Brad's neck. Raul never let up on the pressure. "Sounds like you're speaking for the club."
Brad's Adam's apple moved under the knife, creating a deeper cut on his skin. Blood ran thin down his neck. Raul would kill him without looking back, but he needed to know how many from his own club had doubts. Somewhere down the line, he'd fucked up and his cover was in jeopardy.
"There's been talk since you took chair at the table," Brad said. "Only in passing. We're behind you, Prez."
Sweat rolled off Brad's face. Raul brought the knife up and sliced a one-inch, thin line, horizontally under Brad's nose. The cut would bleed like a stuck pig and fill Brad's mouth every time he tried to talk. He pushed off Brad's chest.
"I want names of the members." He swiped the knife off on the thigh of his jeans, and slipped it back into the sheath at his hip.
"Prez, it was bull shit talk. Nobody believes you've played us. We got your back." Brad wiped his forearm under his nose and spit. "Fuck, I'm bleeding all over the place."
Raul spared him a glance. "Be glad you're still standing and I don't finish what I started, one piece at a time until you bleed out. I hear any of this bull shit, and you'll be the first one who pays for the club's talk."
Brad nodded and stopped mid action to swipe at his neck. "You've been a Lagsturns longer than eighty percent of the brothers. Fucking no way does anyone believe the talk. It's left over shit from when you took over the chair and removed…the last president."
Speaking of an ex-brother, stripped of his colors, went against club rules. No names, no talk, no thinking about past members belonged within the boundaries of the Lagsturns. Doing so meant your allegiance remained with the fallen and not with the men who had your back and would kill for you.
Butch jogged around the corner and approached Raul, his bandana wet with sweat and his face red above his beard from the exertion of coming from his post five hundred feet away. "We're cleared. Big Joe, me, Duck, Brad will go in with you."
"Yeah." He wanted to wipe his own sweat from his face, but ignored the desire to take his frustrations out in a weak action and show his worries. "In and out. Let's get this done."
Butch motioned with his chin at Brad, who stood to the side, swiping blood off his face with his arm. "Something else going down?"
"Not anything that concerns the club." Raul walked over, threw his leg over his Harley, and started the engine. "Head back and grab your ride. We're not going to walk in the damn heat and I want to get this meeting over with and get back to the club."
He tore out from behind the building and left his men to follow orders. He'd called Crystal when he'd made excuses to the others about taking a piss behind the building. He had everything set up and under control. All he had to do was tell the guys after the meeting that he needed a few days alone with Crystal to make her his bitch, and he'd buy some time to make sure Crystal was safe before heading into the job.
Crystal would believe he went nomad, relax, and he could dig for more information to bring down Garcia and temporary stop the delivery of heroin and women. If everything went according to his plan, he could close an eight-year case next week when he exchanged deliveries with Garcia.
First, he had to convince Garcia they were solid on the delivery and squelch any rumors.
If he succeeded, it'd be a career move that would see him to retiring. If he was lucky and made it out alive, he could settle down within the Lagsturns, bring them around, and keep Crystal by his side. If not…well, he'd be dead.
He pulled up to the front door of the Armory and shut off the engine as he kicked the stand down. All he had to do was stay alive for one more week, and no one would ever know his true occupation.
At the door, he glanced behind him, took in his men headed his way, and knocked twice on the door. He patted his pocket, reassured that the phone he use
d to call Crystal was now broken into a hundred pieces and dumped into the trunk of an old abandoned car behind the Armory.
The door swung inward and one large man, at least fifty pounds heavier than Raul and six inches taller, dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt despite the heat, stepped out and motioned for Raul to move toward the side of the building. Raul strolled over and placed his palms flat on the metal siding. He clamped his teeth, pushing the pain of burning his hands against the metal, and concentrated on the man's hands roaming the inside of his legs, his boots, his back.
He knew the drill. He'd been here twice before.
The two pistols, his knife, and the extra clip from his back pocket were now in possession of Garcia's guard. Raul dropped his hands to his side, curling his fingers and regretting it instantly when the skin heated even more.
The only thing the guard left him was the twelve-inch chain hooked to his belt and connected to his leather wallet. Unlike the others, he had a slit in his belt that if he pulled hard enough, the chain would come free and he could use it to defend himself if need be.
He motioned with his chin for his men to line up and be cleared for entrance. The sooner they got inside the building, the better. He strolled a few feet away under the disguise of wiping sweat from his brow, and took in the security cameras. Abandoned my ass.
Garcia used the Armory for more than meetings. It was a well-guarded building and afforded the Mafia lord time to know when the enemy was coming.
"Go." The guard stood back and let his men enter.
Raul brought up the back, nodding at the guard and going through the doorway. Then steps inside, the coolness from the dark settled over his skin and created a flash of a chill that quickly went away and left his body five degrees cooler.
The guard led them toward the left, down a hall, and knocked at the third door on the right. One after another, they filed into the room. On Raul's turn, the guard slapped his hand on Raul's chest holding him back.
"Sanchez of Allegra villa?" The man's eyebrow lifted. "Me familia is there."
He grinned. "Si, amigo."