"You were working with the Furia MC," Mad Dog said.
"I'm sure you've heard the rumors about them talking with the Armenians."
"I've heard," Mad Dog said.
Guillermo shook his head. "I no longer have use of their services," he said. "The Armenians are too flashy, run by people without any sense for longevity in this business. I don’t operate that way. It attracts attention I do not want to attract. Now, this nasty business- this betrayal by the Furia, has put me in an awkward position. I've had to change shipping routes, warehouses. I have no desire to be involved in anything high-profile - gang warfare, that sort of thing." He waved dismissively, as if it were beneath him.
"Neither do we," Mad Dog said.
"When I make an alliance, hire protection, it means you are working with me exclusively."
"Absolutely," Mad Dog said. "We can offer you the full resources of the club. Whatever you need."
Mad Dog was talking, and my mind wandered as I looked over at the bookcases on the walls. Volumes lined the shelves - Greek, Roman, Asian history. I wondered if he read these or if they were just for show. He did seem well educated, the type of guy who would have read all of these books. I narrowed my eyes, trying to read some of the spines from where I sat, and Mad Dog’s voice blurred as I let my mind wander. This room reminded me of Althea.
Althea was my last foster mom, the one before I went to juvie. I reached her when I was fifteen, a few years in the system by that time - too far gone, or so I thought. She’d raised some thirty odd foster kids before me, but never lost hope- no matter what. I was running with a bad crowd then, trying to get jumped into this fucking white power gang in LA - not because I was racist but because I was white and everything fell out that way by race. I was a punk, propping myself up with aggression, attempting to maintain control, trying to get away from my life.
Althea had this huge room in her house, at least it seemed huge to me at the time. What did I know? I was a fifteen year old kid whose idea of fine living was having a kitchen with a stocked pantry. She had this library in her house, a whole room full of books inside shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The bookshelves were filled with everything imaginable- history, art, mystery, old westerns- and she had encouraged me to read. Fill your mind with something other than the shit from the streets, she said, thrusting The Art of War into my rage-filled adolescent hands. This room was like being transported to another time and place.
“We can do that,” Mad Dog said, looking at me.
I cleared my throat, focused on the present. “Right.”
“We’ve been growing, and we’re ready to expand,” Mad Dog said.
"Do you have the capacity to deal with the kind of volume we're talking about running? I'll need warehouse coverage, protection for my trucks, interference at checkpoints. This isn't the small time meth trade anymore."
Mad Dog nodded. "We have the muscle, and we cover the mileage up and down the coast now, through the southwest. The volume will be higher, but we have the manpower."
“I have a shipment coming in on the tenth. Can your guys rally for that kind of volume by then?"
Mad Dog smiled and I nodded. “We can.”
“Good. Then that will be the first one. We can see how it goes." Guillermo leaned back in his chair. “There is one other thing I need from you. It’s a sensitive matter, a personal one.”
“Say the word.” Mad Dog would have sold his mother at this point to get a deal with him.
“I need to farm this job out, get it out of my circle.” He leaned forward, his voice low. “I’ve got a leak here-” He raised his hand before either of us could say anything. “I’m taking care of the problem. But this is precious cargo, and I need it handled appropriately, outside of my guys.”
I nodded. “Anything.”
“An old problem has come back to haunt me,” he said. “Someone who’s intent on destroying me and my family. He may have compromised my men, and I need someone completely uninvolved.”
“Say the word,” Mad Dog said.
“My daughter is part of the deal. He can come after me; I may be an old man, but I can handle myself. But her? I want her as far away from this as possible. I need you to take her someplace and lie low until this blows over.”
Mad Dog nodded. “We can take her to a safe house, put a couple of guys on her.”
Guillermo shook his head. “No. This is my daughter we're talking about. I don’t want a couple of random thugs on her.”
Mad Dog looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I stifled a groan. Shit. The last thing I wanted to do was babysit daddy’s little princess. “I have to take care of the club, but Blaze here can do it.”
Guillermo glared at me. “Nothing happens to her.”
I nodded. Got it.
“Nothing. She’s not to be touched, by anyone.” He paused. “In any way.” The message came through loud and clear. Understood. No sampling the merchandise. Like I was going to screw daddy’s little girl. Come on.
Mad Dog slapped my arm. “Blaze here is your man. He’s a monk. A saint.”
Guillermo stared at me. “Yes, I’m sure. Not a hair on her head gets touched," he said. “If she is harmed in any way, well, you can just imagine-”
“Understood.” I was irritated. Yeah, got it, I would be stuck babysitting some chick in the middle of nowhere. Classic.
Guillermo was silent for a moment before he spoke. “There’s one other small personal matter related to my daughter.”
“Sure,” I said, sarcastic.
He looked at Mad Dog this time. “This is separate from our business together. It shouldn’t be a hard job, but I’ll need to have someone taken care of, the daughter’s ex-boyfriend, some college punk who beat her up.”
Mad Dog nodded. “Give us the details. Since we have the other deal on board. I’ll throw this in for free. Consider it a gift.”
Guillermo appeared pleased. “I think this is going to work out.”
Mad Dog stood. “A long-term alliance.”
“Yes.” Guillermo walked over to the desk and pushed a button on the phone, buzzing the intercom. “Send my daughter in, please.” He turned to me. “I should warn you. She’s a bit headstrong, a handful. She’s not pleased about this plan, to say the least.”
I had to keep from rolling my eyes. That’s exactly what I needed, to babysit a spoiled rich brat who was going to fight me and bitch the entire time.
The door opened, and she walked through, eyes blazing. “Daddy, I told you I’m not going anywhere. I’m not a fucking prisoner-”
Guillermo interrupted. “Dani,” he said. “This is the gentleman who will be accompanying you to the safe house.”
When she turned, my heart stopped. I stood, legs shaking. Her. Dani. She was dressed conservatively in a white blouse and black linen pants, a scarf tied around her neck. I knew what was under the scarf, of course. Shit, I knew what was under her clothes. An image of her flashed before my eyes - Dani, naked underneath me, my mouth on her lips, her breasts, her pussy. I could still taste her. Don’t touch a hair on her head? I’d already touched more than that. I’d been everywhere. Guillermo Arias was going to kill me.
Dani's eyes widened, and her face turned pale as she stood there, silent. Shit. She did not look happy to see me. In fact, I was probably the last person on earth she wanted to see. Who could blame her? I’m sure she didn’t think she was going to screw a dirty biker on the side of the road and ever run into him again.
Guillermo broke the silence. “I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness. As I said, she’s not entirely happy with this arrangement.”
“Blaze will provide protection, keep you at the safe house until everything’s clear,” Mad Dog said.
“Dani,” I said.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or embarrassed.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Blaze.”
I felt an undercurrent of electricity between us, th
e same heat we’d had in the hotel. It ran through my veins and I felt my blood boil, thinking about her touch. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms, carry her away and get her out of here, away from this life. It was some kind of primal instinct. It took everything I had to stand there, rooted in the ground, and not rush to her.
“I'm Dani,” she said, her gaze never leaving me, heat flashing in her eyes.
When she spoke, I knew it. I knew it more than I’d known anything else in my life. I knew that this girl would wreck me.
"This is such bullshit!" Balling up a tee-shirt, I threw it in a bag. “I’m so glad I unpacked everything just to have to repack it all. Where am I being banished, anyway?"
My father stood just inside my bedroom, scowling. “It's for your own protection. We talked about this."
I returned to my closet to grab shoes. I picked up a pair of Jimmy Choos, then set them back down. Obviously there was no need for dress shoes. I glanced at the safe in the back of my closet. Should I bring a weapon? I grabbed a more sensible pair of sneakers and walked out of the closet. “So you’re telling me I'm supposed to just sit in a fucking house somewhere. You won’t even tell me where. And with some guy I don’t even know."
"It will be someone safe, someone I trust." My father paused. "Clean up your fucking language. I won't sit here and listen to you yell at me with that filthy mouth. You're not a thug."
"Daddy, please." I sat on the bed. I didn't need this now. I came home to get away from Billy, clear my head, have a little fun this summer. Suddenly the issue with Billy paled in comparison. It seemed like it happened a million years ago. "I want to see my friends, hang out at the beach, do normal stuff regular college students do."
"You're not a normal college student." My father sat down in an overstuffed chair near my bed. "I'm sorry you don't like it, but all this?" He gestured at the room. "All this is because of my work. You are where you are because of it, and you could express a little more gratitude for your present situation."
"The present situation is that I'm being shuttled off to some craphole in the middle of nowhere, away from everyone I know, for my protection." I spit out the last words, furious with him. I had friends in Los Angeles, people I knew. "I don't even know where I'm going."
"You don't need to know. It's for your own good."
I laughed bitterly. "How come everything is for my own good? I'm sick of hearing that. I'm sick of all of this."
Anger flashed in his eyes. "I would highly advise that you don’t say something you’ll regret. If you don’t like all of this, as you say, I can arrange so you won’t have to deal with any of it ever again.” It wasn’t simple fatherly advice. It was a direct threat, coming from a man who had power and influence that was more far-reaching than I could begin to imagine.
"Is this because of what happened with Billy?" I just couldn’t help myself; I had to continue. I swear I didn’t have a death wish.
"No, but he'll be dealt with suitably."
"I don't want him dealt with," I said. "I didn't come home so you would have him killed. Tell me you're not going to kill him."
My father stared at me, unblinking. "Does he deserve to live?"
Not really, I thought reflexively. Then, yes, of course he does. "He was high. He choked me. You can't kill him," I protested. I knew a moral argument against killing him would not sway my father, but maybe a practical one would. "Do you know who he is?"
"I know who he is."
"He's somebody, daddy." I waited to see if anything I said was registering with him. I hoped it was. "He's one of the Randolphs. I don't care what the hell he did to me. You can't just have him killed. You can't. They will come after us."
"It's not for you to worry about."
"Yes it is, daddy. It's absolutely my concern. How can you say it doesn't involve me?"
"It's not your concern," he said.
"Promise me you won’t go after him."
"I won't make that promise."
"Promise me," I begged. "Please don't kill him."
"It won't connect to us in any way."
"You can't, daddy," I pleaded. "It will come back to us. If someone touches him, it will come back on us." My stomach lurched. I knew coming here was a bad idea. At my core, I had hoped that my father was a reasonable man, that he wouldn’t do something insane like go after Billy. I thought he would understand that it was too dangerous. The Randolphs were just too influential. I should have stayed at school, distanced myself from Billy, waited until he got bored and moved on to someone else.
What was wrong with me? You knew he would kill Billy. Some part of you knew, and that makes you a killer too. You’re your father’s daughter.
No, no, no.
My father kissed my forehead. "I promise you. It won't connect to us."
"It's wrong."
"Morality is for people who live in a fantasy world. Now, I won’t hear any more about it. The conversation about this Billy is over.”
Over meant over with my father. Literally, if you weren’t careful. “Can you tell me why I have to go away, at least?”
He exhaled deeply. “I didn’t want to bring up painful memories.”
My heart skipped a beat. I sat down on the bed, hands between my legs. I was almost afraid to ask. “You already did, on the phone. You opened that door.” I heard my voice falter.
“It’s about your mother’s killer.”
I inhaled sharply. My mother. He had already said it on the phone, but my heart still raced, having him bring it up here again. "What exactly is going on?"
"The man who killed her -"
"The one you said was dead," I interrupted, not caring whether he found it rude. “He’s not dead, then, is he?”
My father shook his head. "No."
"Did you know he was alive, all this time?" My voice sounded like it was coming from someplace else, somewhere outside of myself, this high-pitched, whiny voice that didn't sound like me. It didn’t sound like I was in control. "You said he was dead. You lied to me."
"I told you that to protect you."
"Protect me?" I couldn't seem to control the volume of my voice. I stood, wobbling, my thoughts racing so fast I couldn't make any sense of them. "Protect me from what? Protect me from the life you forced me into when I was a kid? Protect me from my mom being murdered? Tell me." I was screaming, filled with rage. "Tell me! What exactly have you protected me from?"
"You have no idea, Dani," he said. "You think you've been exposed to something, that the things you know are something? You've been exposed to nothing. You don't know what I know, what you could have seen."
"My mother's death- that was nothing, then?"
He shook his head, regret written all over his face, at least I thought it was regret. I never knew with my father. He was an emotional chameleon, changing at whim, and I could never be sure what was genuine. Or if anything was ever genuine. "You know that's not what I'm saying. Your mother's death was a tragedy. But her murderer was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. You didn't need to worry about him coming after you. That's what I was protecting you from."
"So my mother's murderer has been running around for years wanting to kill me too, and you let me think I was perfectly safe? That's your idea of protection?"
"You've been protected the entire time. You've been safe."
"But suddenly I'm not."
"No. You're not."
"But you're not going to tell me why I'm not safe."
"No. I'm not."
"Why should I go to some safe house?"
"There’s no should. You will. This is the only time we'll have this conversation."
"Is that a threat?" I was pushing it, and I knew it. I was testing him. I watched the vein on his neck throb, the one that provided me with a barometer of how angry he was when I was a kid, how close he was to exploding. I watched him, wondering if he would explode now. He rarely did, but when he did it was nuclear.
When I was fourteen, my mother was murder
ed. I ran around after that, completely out of control, and my father was angry all the time. I didn’t know if he was angry at himself, at me, or at the world. But one day, I was sitting on my bed missing my mother, and I had an epiphany, as much as fourteen year old kids can have epiphanies. I’d always thought of my father as dangerous, but never to me. Toward other people, sure. But not to me, his daughter. But there was something about him after her murder, something dark- and I thought he might actually kill me. That was why I begged to go off to boarding school.
“It's not a threat," he said. "It's a statement. We will not have this conversation again. Pack your bags. You'll leave tomorrow."
After he left, I sat on my bed, feeling depleted. Part of me wanted to fight this, to get my shit, jump in the car, and drive away. I could start a new life somewhere under a new name. I would live in Thailand; serve cocktails on the beach; live cheaply. I could be someone else, anyone else, someone who was not my father's daughter. Another part of me was just resigned to it all, the same way I'd always been resigned to the fact that my father would control my whole life, no matter where he was. Everything he’d given me came at a price, and that was the cost. It was my deal with the devil.
I knew I didn't have the strength to fight him. I would shut my mouth; go to the safe house; read some novels; and sit on my ass until he did whatever he was going to do. I wouldn't ask too many questions, and I would live. My instinct for self-preservation would win out in the end. It inevitably did. That was the most important lesson I'd learned in life.
Always save yourself.
I steeled myself as I waited outside the heavy wooden door to my father's office. Bikers stood at the entrance to the house, lingering, joking around, playing grab ass with each other like a bunch of high school football players. Morons. These guys didn’t look familiar, a different club than he’d used when I was growing up. But they were all the same. My father, always in bed with bikers. Like father, like daughter, I thought.
Heat rose to my cheeks at the thought of what had happened with Blaze, his hands on my body, mouth on my lips, on my breasts. The image of him looking down at me, urging me to open my eyes and look at him while he came flashed through my head. I immediately felt arousal, like a reflex, in the pit of my stomach and radiating through my hips.
Taming Blaze Page 6