The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  Looking into his deep, forest green eyes, I can see the storm brewing there. He doesn’t want to have to break the promise to me the night we got hitched by a poor imitation of Liberace, but he will if I force his hand.

  I knew this day was coming; I just didn’t think it would be so soon. Granted, nearly four months, like Lucifer said isn’t soon, but I’m not ready yet. My brothers are going to shit bricks since they aren’t Lucifer’s biggest fans. And my dad. Well, he’s going to lose his ever-loving mind. They may work together, but for the most part, they barely tolerating each other’s presence in an effort to get the job done. When my dad finds out, I secretly married the man he under no certain terms told me to stay the hell away from, things at Chez Sentinel will be far from sunshine and roses.

  “Let me just...”

  “There is no just,” he snaps, cutting me off. “You’ve got until tonight, Tatum.”

  With that, Lucifer turns on his heel and strides out the door, leaving me alone to consider if going on the lamb might be the only viable way out of this mess.

  Chapter Three

  Lucifer

  Before he knew I was in love with his daughter, and not long after my wife died, Trace approached me. He wanted me to come on board to help him take his friend Chase’s business to the next level. At first, I was skeptical, Trace wasn’t a fan of mine, and Chase barely tolerated me, but after the three of us sat down and they convinced me this wasn’t an elaborate plot to kill me, I reluctantly agreed.

  Trace later admitted that through, Tatum, he knew I was in a bad place, that I needed something to focus on before I fucked up and did something even more monumentally stupid than fall for his daughter. That last part wasn’t something he was aware of. At least he wasn’t yet, but he would be.

  My soul focus back then was wrecking vengeance one particular member of Devil’s Spawn MC. I put all my time and energy into hunting through Arrow’s financials, digging into his past, and fucking with his future. I was hell bent on bringing that motherfucker down, consequences be damned.

  If it helps, I had a good reason; my dead wife, Savannah. Because I loved Savannah – and don’t for a minute doubt that I did, despite how I feel about, Tatum – I reached out to Arrow, the VP of Devil’s Spawn MC, and his wife, Veronica, Savannah’s twin sister, a few months after we were told it was unlikely my wife would survive another five years. Savannah’s kidneys were shutting down from the same disease, her and Arrow’s son was diagnosed with; polycystic kidney disease. Dialysis and medication weren’t methods of treatment, they would only prolong her life expectancy while bringing her nothing but pain and suffering.

  There was a lot of talk about why I stepped down as the President of Satan’s Son, but none of it was even remotely true. Rumors that I was defecting, that I wasn’t committed to the brotherhood anymore, or that I’d had a falling out with my officers were rife. But the truth was, all I wanted to do was spend what little time Savannah had left, with her.

  My brothers supported my decision wholeheartedly. My best friend and VP, Bead, stepped up, taking over my role as President so that I could focus on my wife. Leaving the club didn’t sever my association with them, though. The boys were still around when I needed them, and their old ladies bringing food and offers of help over on almost a daily basis. I didn’t take them up on their kindness often, but when Savannah’s health started deteriorating rapidly, I was left with little choice.

  It didn’t matter to Satan’s Sons that Savannah originally came to be my wife because the club needed leverage, she was one of us, just like I had been. And while it would be a long time before anyone truly forgot that our relationship started out by me giving Savannah an ultimatum that she could marry me or her son would be used to pay her debt to the MC, it didn’t end that way.

  Savannah more than made a place for herself within the club. She was there for the birth of my brothers’ kids, she helped out with the clubs’ businesses, and she did her best to make me happy. To them, that’s all that mattered, the same as it did me.

  In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done what I did, seeking Arrow out, but emotion drove me to make a decision that I hadn’t considered the full ramifications of. The stress of my wife’s diagnosis, the twice weekly trips to the hospital for treatment, and the woman who I couldn’t have but wanted desperately visiting daily to help take care of Savannah eventually took its toll. My wife deserved better than to die thinking that her only child hated her, and the knowledge that her entire family believed she was the devil incarnate.

  Deep down, Savannah wasn’t the monster they portrayed her to be. She wasn’t the patron saint of all things good either, but she wasn’t an evil person. Sure, she made some questionable decisions, but don’t we all? And, yes, she bartered herself to pay a debt, but there were mitigating circumstances as to why. Personally, I think trading your life for the life of your son is selfless, but what the hell do I know? If you ask, Arrow and Veronica, nothing, but fuck them and their little dog too. Those assholes wouldn’t know real sacrifice if it bit them on the ass.

  With all that in mind, I tried to heal the breach, but my first and only attempt to give my wife something she deserved above all else, peace, was met with hatred and contempt. Arrow and his wife, Veronica, Savannah’s sister didn’t give a fuck about my wife’s suffering. They went as far as to say exactly that when I showed up on their doorstep. Their only concern was that Kellen was safe and happy, that he was healthy.

  They had moved on to playing happy families while my wife, Kellan’s mother lay wasting away in a hospital bed. They also shared that they didn’t want Kellen to undergo the stress of his mother making a reappearance in his life, stating that it would only confuse him. For fuck’s sake, the kid was twelve years old by then, I hardly thought letting him see his mom one last time would fuck the boy up. But again, what did I know?

  I’ll never forget that day because it was a turning point for me. That day I looked at a man I had known for years, a man I respected and saw him for the piece of shit he was. I turned my back on him and his wife, vowing never to return, and walked away. I promised myself that if Arrow thought he, his wife or his son could turn up at Savannah’s funeral when she eventually did pass, they had another thing coming. Because as far as I was concerned, once I washed my hands of someone there was no redemption and no forgiveness for any of them.

  Four years, three months, and one week after the doctors told us Savannah had less than five years to live, she died. Thank fuck, it was at home and in the arms of a man I now have the privilege of calling a friend because that’s what she would have wanted.

  Savannah always said that she didn’t want to go surrounded by machines that were keeping her alive. She wanted to live and die free, and our home was as close as that got to being free for her. Austin, the man who was with her when she passed, wasn’t there intentionally; it was an act of sheer dumb luck that he was. It’s also something I’m insanely grateful for. Austin made my wife feel safe in her last minutes on this Earth. He held her while she took her last breath and long afterward until I could get home and say goodbye. I will never be able to repay him for making her last moments comfortable, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

  On a side note, Austin was also a big part of the reason I decided to bite the bullet and partner with Trace. He was aware that I didn’t want to leave the Waterfield, Lower Falls area, but he also knew that I couldn’t stay, not right now, at least. I needed time and space; I needed to grieve the loss of my wife. So Austin put forward, that with Trace, I could have the best of both worlds. I could have a permanent home base in Waterfield, but I would have the flexibility to travel and get away as needed. Not to mention, the job would give me something to focus on that wasn’t taking out my latent anger on Arrow and his band of merry fuckwit brothers.

  So, I did it. I called Trace and took the job. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t think out the ramifications of that choice either, because with Tra
ce came Tatum. And that was a whole can of crazy I wasn’t ready for, and I’m not sure I ever will be.

  For the most part, shit worked out as it should have, though. Chase had spent the better part of a decade as the only bounty hunter this side of the Rocky Mountains west of Denver. He had more than enough business for ten men, let alone Trace and I, so we were never short of a dollar or a challenge. The deal was that Trace, and I would take over the collars that were, how do I put it? More resistant to paying their penance. While Chase would continue to work the local skips and liaise with law enforcement on all of our behalves.

  There was another difference as to how we ran our respective sides of our businesses, though, and that

  pertained to the lengths Trace, and I were willing to go to in order to bring a mark in. Chase was a man with morals. He was a single man with a young, impressionable daughter to worry about, which meant he was quick to turn down jobs that may require more violence than a stun gun to apprehend. I can’t blame him, kicking ass and taking names isn’t for everyone. However, Trace was in the same boat, but with four daughters and two sons, all of whom were also young and impressionable, and it didn’t bother him in the least to Taser someone’s ass and drag them a mile to his SUV.

  The truth is, most men who skipped bail were scumbags with huge egos, and a desire not to be caught. So if that meant delivering an ass kicking or two, I was all in. It was just an added bonus that I enjoyed doing it and still do. This work suits me; it fit the man I became after leaving the MC. I get to choose which skips I take and when I work, and the money is fucking sensational. And while getting in my truck to chase after some asshole who’s skipped bond isn’t the same as getting on my bike and riding the highway until I either ran out of gas or decided to stop for the night, it was as close as I was going to get these days.

  Which brings us to now, and what I’m going to do about the woman that has driven me to distraction.

  Tatum may think she’s been smart in avoiding me, but what she doesn’t know is that I’ve got eyes on her, that I’m always watching. With that thought in the forefront of my mind, I allow a wicked grin to split my lips.

  “What the fuck are you smiling about?” Trace grunts from his desk across the room.

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap back, not interested in letting him screw with my good mood right now.

  I promised to let Tatum break the news of our marriage to her old man, and so far, I had held up my end of the bargain. In saying that, I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last if Trace keeps goading me when it comes to his daughter. The man is hell bent on pushing my buttons, like now. The evil grin on his face tells me he’s about to open his mouth and give me shit. Which he does only seconds later, proving my earlier sentiments to be correct. The man is a Grade-A asshole.

  “You’re not still pouting because I told you, Tate is going on a date, are you?” He smirks, cocking his head to the side to study my reaction.

  “Nope,” I say, not giving anything away. I’ll be damned if I let him get a rise out of me. At least, not this time.

  “I heard he’s taking her to that fancy French joint in Boulder. Not my style, but you know, Tate. She loves that shit.”

  No, she doesn’t, but I don’t tell him as much. I know what my woman likes, and it isn’t gourmet food served by pretentious fuckwits dressed as penguins. Tatum loves nothing more than a juicy cheeseburger, fries, and a cold beer. Sometimes if she’s feeling feisty, she’ll go for a banana split with all the trimmings, but that’s as exotic as her tastes run. Not to mention, Tatum already told me she and her asshat partner are going to Jack’s, meaning Trace is simply trying to push my fucking buttons.

  Logging out of the search I was running, I shut my laptop and collect the list of current high-bond skips we’re tracking. “Did you see the alert that pinged on Larson’s credit card,” I ask, referring to asshole Numero Uno on our list for the week.

  “Yeah, I sent Wyatt over to the motel to check it out, but the asshole was gone before he got there.”

  Wyatt and Levi, Trace’s youngest and oldest sons respectively, have recently taken an interest in what they like to call the family business. And while I appreciate the help with the grunt work, those two idiots would have trouble finding their way out of a paper bag with two exits, so I’m not thrilled they have their hearts set on joining the team.

  Grunting my dissatisfaction, I mutter, “Don’t suppose he got a lead on where he went?”

  “No,” Trace replies, clearly not appreciative of my tone. “The front desk manager said the guy took off like the hounds of hell were on his ass about an hour before Wyatt showed up. And it’s not like they leave a forwarding address, dumbass,” he ends on a growl.

  No shit! However, it wouldn’t be the first time one of the assholes we’re hunting was stupid enough to leave a way to contact them after they skipped their most recent accommodations.

  The last guy I tracked down left his cell number with the night manager since he was expecting a delivery. When it arrived, I picked the package up, and color me grossed the fuck out when I saw what was inside. Butt plugs of all shapes and sizes, some glass, some steel, some vibrating rubber.

  Apparently, the guy had planned a one-man party, because an hour later he showed up, alone, after the manager called to confirm his order was in and was Jonesing to get his hands on the goods. He was an easy mark after that. I took the guy down just as he was getting into his car, drove

  him to the station that had issued his warrant, and collected my fee. All in all, an easy day’s work, regardless of the fact I’d need to bleach my brain when I got home.

  “I’ll run his name through the DMV and see if we can get a lock on his tags. If he’s smart, he already dumped the car, but I’m thinking this guy doesn’t rank high on the list of MENSA candidates.”

  Harry Larson is a small time petty criminal, or he was until he tried to knock over a busy 7-11 in the middle of the day with a banana and, at least, a dozen witnesses.

  “You do that,” Trace grunts, scowling at me through narrowed eyes.

  “Before I do, I’ve got something to talk to you about. You’re not going to like it, but I can’t say that I really give a fuck.” Not the best way to start a conversation with the man who’s about to find out he’s my father-in-law, but it’s not like it’s going to go any better any which way I preface it.

  Trace kicks his feet up on his desk and glares at me. “Hurry up. I’ve got a fuck ton of stuff to do, and sitting here shooting the shit with you isn’t on that list.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes go to his gun that’s resting on top of a stack of paperwork to his right. I mentally calculate how long it will take him to reach for it, and decide I’ve got a good chance of making out of this alive.

  “Remember that trip I took to Vegas in December?” I start off by asking.

  “Yep,” he nods.

  “Well, I ran into Tatum, Scarlet, and Ebonee while I was there.”

  “And?” He motions, gesturing for me to get on with it.

  “And, Tatum and I got married,” I announce undiplomatically, even for me.

  “You fucking what?” Trace roars, launching out of his chair.

  Trace advances on me quickly. As his fist connects with my jaw, I’m not remotely worried about whether I make it out of here breathing, but if Tatum is ever going to forgive me for this.

  Chapter Four

  Trace

  I’m going to kill him. This motherfucker is a dead man walking.

  Grabbing him by the front of his shirt I yell, “Is there something fucking wrong with you? Are you fucking brain damaged or something? What part of me telling you to stay the hell away from me daughter, didn’t you understand?”

  I’d have to be blind not to have noticed how Lucifer’s feels about my oldest daughter, but I’d be damned if I was going to let his brand of poison infect my baby’s life. Tatum is the epitom
e of a bleeding heart, and falling for a man like Lucifer will only end up crushing her beautiful spirit.

  I’m man enough to say that if it weren’t for Tatum, I wouldn’t have managed to keep my shit together in the years since her mom, and Lucy left. There are times when I’ve felt like the worst dad in the world for putting the weight of my issues on Tatum’s slim shoulders. The fact that she works hard and she never complains, only makes it worse. It makes it more difficult to recognize when I’m asking too much of her.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” Lucifer snarls, breaking me out of my rage filled daze.

  Shaking me off, he stares at me; his face contorted in anger, and something else; something a hell of a lot like vulnerability.

  “Just tell me why?” I manage to grate out past the lump forming in my throat. “Why, Tate? You could have any number of bar bitches or muffler bunnies warming your bed, why my little girl?”

  “I don’t need to explain shit to you, Trace, but I’ll tell you this much. Tatum is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She’s smart, beautiful, compassionate, and I love her. I have for probably longer than I should have,” he admits brusquely.

  Yeah, and that’s precisely why I don’t want this asshole within a hundred yards of her.

  It isn’t just Lucifer’s history, though. His time spent as the President of Satan’s Sons doesn’t worry me half as much as his marriage to, Savannah and the circumstances surrounding it. And while I’m pretty damn sure my daughter isn’t stupid enough to get herself blackmailed into marrying this fucker, I wouldn’t put it past him to have done something to manipulate her feelings for him to lead her down the aisle.

  My body is vibrating with anger; it’s pouring off me in waves. Fuck. My hands are practically fucking shaking with the need to beat the shit out of Lucifer. Teaching him a lesson not to fuck with a man’s daughter would be a pleasure, but not one I’m going to indulge in. Especially, not when I hear the chime over the front door ring.