by Sophia Gray
“All right,” Brock said. “If you're going to kill us, you're going to kill us. Clearly, there's no talking you out of it. But before you pull the trigger, just answer one question for me. How did you figure it out? How did you know Maggie's kidnapping was a setup?”
Turo smirked and called out, his gun still leveled at them. “Adamo, you can bring him over now.”
Adamo stepped out from behind a nearby crypt, holding his Desert Eagle. Robby walked behind him, adjusting his glasses.
“We found the other two bikers,” Adamo rasped. “They're tied up a couple of rows away.”
“Robby,” Brock sighed. “Of course.”
“Hiya, Brock,” Robby said with a smile. “After you demonstrated what an unreliable fuck you are, I figured this whole plan was pretty much doomed. So I went to Turo and came clean. Told him the whole thing, and in exchange, he's gonna make sure I get to stay a made guy, even after the mistakes I made. But I guess you made a few of your own, huh, pal? Like thinking I wouldn't dime you out.”
Brock's lips pulled into a grim smile. “Actually, 'pal'...that's exactly what I thought.”
He pressed the stud on the left cufflink, activating the device Ben had installed in it. It was a simple transmitter, no different from the ones inside medical alert bracelets.
Except the people who received this particular signal weren't paramedics.
Over a dozen young black men emerged from their hidden positions behind the surrounding gravestones, aiming massive handguns at the gangsters. The chrome on their weapons gleamed in the moonlight.
Turo looked around, panicked. “What the hell is going on? Who are these men?”
One of the men stepped forward, holding a pair of gold-plated .44 pistols with pearl handles. The gold necklace he wore had the letters “R-GUNZ” engraved on it.
He pointed at Robby. “That him?” he asked Brock.
“Yep,” Brock answered. “His name is Robby Nickels, and he's the piece of shit who sold the smack to your son up in Ditchfield.”
R-Gunz looked Robby over for a moment, then fired a bullet directly into the bridge of Robby's nose. Robby fell to the grass, dead, his glasses split neatly in half.
“Nice shot, big guy,” Brock said. “I know it won't bring him back, but I sure hope it helped. Now, about the second part of our deal...?”
R-Gunz nodded to his soldiers. They aimed their weapons and fired at Turo and Adamo. The gangsters dropped their own guns, jitterbugging on the grass as their bodies were riddled with bullets. When the shooting finally stopped, the two men slumped to the ground as clouds of gun smoke coiled above them.
Satisfied, R-Gunz holstered his pistols and walked over to Brock, shaking hands with him. “Pleasure doin' business with you. If you ever make it out to California, be sure an' look me up.”
“Will do,” Brock said.
R-Gunz motioned to his soldiers, and they withdrew, disappearing into the night.
Hammer stared at Brock, dumbfounded. “Jesus. You are just full of surprises, aren't you?”
Epilogue
Brock
And so the Twisted Saints rejoiced when Brock, Maggie, Hammer, and Greg returned with the bag full of money. Beer flowed, music played, and everyone took turns dancing with everyone else all night long. Even Franny managed a smile or two as Hammer waltzed her across the floor. And when he asked if she could stay with them a while longer to lend the MC her considerable chemistry skills as it established a new empire in New Orleans—one in which the ability to synthesize and purify narcotics would be quite valuable, indeed—she laughed, kissed him on the cheek, and said she'd think about it.
Later, when the sun started to rise and thirty million dollars had been counted out between Crack, Franny, Ben, Greg, and the Saints—six million per share—Hammer approached Brock sheepishly.
“Listen, all that stuff I said to you before about us not being friends...”
Brock held up a hand, stopping him. “I understand, Hammer. It's okay.”
Hammer shifted his weight uneasily. “Yeah, well, even so. The Saints are richer to the tune of six mil, and none of that could have happened without you. And since you've got a girl now, and you're gonna have a baby and all...I reckon you shouldn't ride away from this empty-handed, is all.” He handed a shopping bag full of cash to Brock. “Here's a mil from my end.”
Brock looked down at it for a long moment, then embraced Hammer, slapping him on the back. “Thanks, man. That really means a lot to me.”
“We're gonna have our work cut out for us here,” Hammer said. “Chasing the rest of Ricci's guys out of town, setting up our own thing. We could use a big brain like yours, helping us figure out all the angles.”
Brock pulled back from the hug, smiling at Hammer. “You've got my number. I'll always pick up. Trust me, I'm a lot easier to keep liking from a distance.”
That had all been a year ago.
Now Brock was behind the wheel of the Ferrari, driving down a Nevada highway on the way into Las Vegas. The windows were open, and the wind whipped through his hair—the black dye had finally grown out enough for him to shear it off, and he was blonde again. Maggie sat in the passenger's seat, and chubby little Markie was strapped into a baby seat in the back, cooing and giggling as he sucked on his own fingers.
“So what should we go for this time?” Maggie asked, eyeing the luxury hotels full of potential marks. “The Coin-Matching Scam? The Fiddle Game? The Rainmaker?”
Brock chuckled, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. Remember the first rule of being a con artist? You can run any con, anywhere, with absolutely anyone. All you have to do—”
“—is know how to sell it,” Maggie finished with a laugh.
Brock nodded. “Damn straight.”
THE END
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HIS BRANDED BRIDE: Steel Devils MC
By Sophia Gray
SHE’S ABOUT TO SCREAM MY NAME, BEAR MY INK… AND WEAR MY RING.
I’m gonna be the last man she ever has.
I knew it from the second I saw her.
I don’t give a damn who she is, why she’s here, where she’s from.
Hell, I don’t even care what her name is.
Because from now on, I’m giving her my name.
She’ll be by my side.
As my wife.
My canvas.
And, eventually… the mother of my children.
But there are some bad men out there who think they can hurt her and me.
Just wait until I set them straight.
I’ll crack skulls, slit throats, spill blood – whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.
Because she’s my branded bride.
And the whole world needs to know:
Keep your filthy hands off of her.
This one belongs to me.
Prologue
Cole
“If you let me, I know I can make you happy,” she whined, sitting up in my bed, holding the sheets up over her breasts. They always want to pretend to be hurt when someone calls them out on their bullshit. She gave me her best pouty face, poking her bottom lip out, looking at me with those sad blue eyes, and tilting her face down submissively.
Lies.
“I’m not interested in playing games,” I grunted out in disgust as I got up from the bed and started pulling my clothes on.
“But I can be whatever you want me to be,” she insisted.
“Then be dressed and be getting out of my room,” I told her. I pulled my jeans up over my boxers and buckled my belt. I threw on my kutte and ran a hand over my face.
“Whatever I did, I’m sorry, but if you let me try, I promise I can…” she started to protest again.
“I promise I’m
not interested,” I retorted. I walked over to the door and opened it wide. She gasped and grabbed her shirt from the floor next to the bed. She threw it on, exposing herself for a brief moment to the door. Apparently, she didn’t want anyone passing by in the hallway to see her.
I sighed as I waited for her to get dressed. She hadn’t been wearing much to begin with, so there shouldn’t have been much to put back on. Her shirt, her bra if she was interested, her jeans, and her shoes. That was it.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” she said again when she reached the door. She put a thin hand on my chest and leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my face away so she couldn’t. She stopped short and sank back away from me.
I kept my head turned away from her as she finally walked into the hallway without another word. I closed my door in her shocked face and locked it in case she decided she wasn’t done embarrassing herself. I sat on the bed and pulled my boots on. I needed a drink after dealing with that.
I gave her a few minutes to leave the building before walking down to the common room and sitting with Mick at the bar. I wanted to make sure she’d had time to leave. I figured if I got downstairs and she was still there, I’d just go back up and wait a little longer, or have one of the old ladies escort her ass out – that way she couldn’t say I’d put my hands on her.
“Saw your girl leaving, brother. She looked pretty pissed off. Everything okay?” Mick asked as he slid a Jack and Coke across the bar to me.
“It is now,” I said, taking my first sip and enjoying the spicy whiskey lingering on my tongue.
Mick tilted his head back and laughed, showing off the neck and chest pieces I’d done for him. I had done tattoos for most of the guys in the MC. We had guys like Bruce who liked old school biker tattoos done in bold black ink, and guys like Mick, who were covered in the new school shit, full of color and detail. The lines were different, too. New school tattoos created motion for the eyes with the way the lines were drawn on.
I preferred the lively, colorful ink myself, but there were still plenty of people out there who liked bold, black tattoos. There were a few guys with prison tattoos, but I hadn’t done them. They weren’t paid for by a guy in a tattoo parlor. You had to earn those, or you were a punk trying to prove something that probably wasn’t true.
“Care to talk about it?” Mick asked, grabbing a beer for himself and leaning across the bar.
“Just the same old shit, man,” I remarked.
“Another online chick?” he persisted. “Why don’t you date some of the girls who hang out here, man?” He nodded and tilted his beer towards the back of the room, where there were a bunch of local girls hanging around, trying to get the attention of our members.
“They’re even worse,” I told him.
I turned around on my barstool to face the room. The girls were hanging around drinking in their jeans and black T-shirts. Some wore black leather jackets with spikes on them like they were at a punk or metal show instead of hanging out in what amounted to a garage.
“These girls come in here, and they try so hard to impress us,” I lamented.
“They can be fun, though, brother. Give one of them a shot. Go for it,” Mick urged me.
I groaned. “I’ve given several of them shots. Sure, they can be fun for the afternoon or for the night, but after that, they’re usually just . . . boring. They want to date a biker because it’s cool. Or some of them want to hook up with one of us to have a story to tell. Not what I’m looking for.” I turned around to face Mick, who was still staring at the girls giggling and taking shots.
“I’m thinking about taking one of them upstairs tonight,” he said absently.
“You have fun with that. I want something different.”
“I’ll never understand what you’re looking for, brother. It seems to me that you should be able to find at least one genuine girl among the ones who stop by here or the ones you meet online,” he said, taking another swig of his drink.
“You’d think so, but it hasn’t happened. They all want to play games, man. It’s like they think the only way to get someone’s attention is to put on a show. We’re not birds in the wild looking for a mate so we can preserve the species. We’re looking for someone to be a partner for life. Hell, she could already have kids for all I care.” I shrugged and took another sip of my drink. Before setting my glass down, I went ahead and downed the rest of it.
“Another?” Mick asked.
“Yeah, I probably should,” I told him.
He laughed and poured me another glass. He slid it across, and I immediately picked it up and drank half of it.
Alcohol will help alleviate the boredom of dealing with these girls I keep trying to date.
“Maybe your tastes are too particular,” he said.
“I don’t think so. There have got to be women out there who aren’t jaded, who’ve led a somewhat sheltered life, right? I mean, what’s wrong with wanting someone who’s still pretty innocent and inexperienced?”
Mick laughed. “You gotta catch them young for that, don’t you?”
“Not necessarily. I mean, I wouldn’t think so. I imagine there’s at least one woman out there who has lived a mostly sheltered life, either out of necessity or personal taste, and she’s looking for someone to turn that around. I’ve had innocent girls before.”
“Yeah, but they eventually grow up and get some life experience that changes all of that. Am I right?” he asked.
“Yeah, they usually do. Or experience changes them and takes away their innocence,” I mused out loud.
“You haven’t found someone like that online?”
“You would think I could find anyone online these days, but no. I’ve gone through several dating sites, and these women get on there talking about how innocent and pure they are, but it ends up being this fetish, you know? It’s part of some fantasy they want to live out with their partner.”
“Now, those are the women I need to meet,” Mick joked.
“You’d think so. But, it’s just not the same when it’s a game, you know?” I’d dated a few innocent girls, and there was something about genuine innocence, about being inexperienced, that couldn’t be replicated by someone trying to live out a fantasy. The truth always became obvious.
“Ever think you’re the one trying too hard?” Mick asked.
I smirked. “Probably.” I sat and thought about it for a minute, and then I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I just want someone inexperienced, so I can open up her horizons a little bit. Not necessarily young, although I’m not opposed to younger girls. And I’d like to meet someone without tattoos.”
“Whoa,” Mick exclaimed, backing away from the bar. “You? Meet someone without tattoos? No offense, but that might be a bit much to ask, man. Do you really think a girl without any ink will talk to you?”
I chuckled. “That’s the thing. She’s got to be interested in expanding her horizons. But, yeah, why not? Everyone who has tattoos had to have gotten that first tattoo at some point, right?”
“I get the whole thing about the innocent chick. I don’t know anyone who isn’t interested in teaching a girl a little something, but why no tattoos?” Mick asked, taking my glass and topping it off.
“I want to be the guy to give her that first tattoo, you know? I want a girl with pale skin so I can really bring out the colors and the contrast,” I replied, somewhat dreamily.
“Oh, so you want her to be your big work of art.” He nodded knowingly.
I grinned as I took a sip of my drink. I did want her to be my masterpiece, but I wanted her to be more than that. I wanted her to be my muse; the inspiration for the artwork I covered her body with. And I wanted someone with skin pale enough to show off everything I did. I didn’t want to compete with someone else’s work for space on her canvas either. I wanted every inch of her body to be mine.
“I think you’re asking for a lot. A girl like that is going to be very dramatic. You know that, right?” he said.
“I don’t see why she should be. That’s why you don’t see me messing with too many women. I’m not going to get involved with just anybody.”
“You might be missing out on something great.” He nodded at the girls behind me. “There are some fine ass women in here today. I bet you could find someone to keep you entertained for a while over there.”
I turned and looked with disgust.