HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC)

by Zoey Parker

  “No friends,” Billie said. “Just the guys who come into the bar night after night, hoping I'll throw them a fuck or tell them a good joke. I mean, there's that sheriff, sure, but he's always been kind of a needy dweeb. And no family, either. My parents died in a car crash when I was eight, so I stayed with my aunt and uncle near here until I got old enough to move back and get a place of my own.”

  She thought about this for a moment, frowning. “Looking back, I guess that would have been a good time for me to go find someplace else to live instead. But at the time, I couldn't really think of anywhere else I wanted to be. Stupid, right? A whole wide world to explore, and I just ran back to the same old shithole I'd always known.”

  Carter didn't respond to this, but he certainly understood what she meant. He'd often had the same thoughts about coming back from Iraq. He could have gone anywhere, done anything, learned and traveled and discovered a million other things to do with his life. But instead, he'd settled right back into what was easy for him.

  “I think I'm going to catch some shut-eye,” Carter said. “I'm pretty fucking exhausted. Are you going to stay up and finish the movie?”

  “Nah, I know how it ends,” said Billie. She got up and switched the TV off. “You want the cot? It's the least I can do after you saved my ass earlier.”

  Carter shook his head, grinning. “You take it. I insist. Otherwise, my mom would never forgive me for my lack of chivalry.”

  Billie laughed, flopping onto the cot. The plastic cover squeaked under her body. “Fair enough. Aren't you worried about me trying to run off while you're asleep, though?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

  “Nope,” Billie yawned, curling up on her side. “Too tired. Sweet dreams, Carter.”

  “Goodnight, Billie,” he said, doing his best to recline in his chair. It was a little uncomfortable, and for a while, he considered joining her in the bed. After all, hadn't she mentioned before that she'd been willing to fuck him the previous night?

  And hadn't she hinted that her willingness hadn't exactly waned since then?

  Before he could decide, he heard her snoring lightly and figured the choice had been made for him. He grunted once in frustration, then tilted his head back and tried to doze off.

  Chapter 20

  Carter

  The plastic covering the furniture made it difficult for Carter to sleep because every time he or Billie shifted positions, it made creaking and squealing sounds. Billie seemed to be a much heavier sleeper since these noises didn't wake her.

  Carter had slept on the ground in countless states, with owls hooting, animals braying in nearby fields, and hard roots digging into his back. Still, he'd generally been able to sleep through all of that without any trouble.

  This damn plastic, though. It just didn't feel or sound natural, and it took him a long time to relax enough for sleep to overtake him.

  When it finally did, the stresses of the previous twenty-four hours all seemed to catch up to him at once, and his weary body and mind surrendered completely. His sleep was deep and dreamless, and he didn't wake up again until the first ghostly rays of sunlight started to creep in through the broken windows and the hole in the ceiling.

  Carter pulled himself out of the chair and stretched. He was still a bit groggy, but overall, he felt like he'd recovered from almost everything he'd gone through yesterday. He touched his face gingerly, feeling the sting of the sunburn. It hurt, and he knew that he probably looked fucking ridiculous with such a red face, but he'd endured much worse before.

  On the whole, he felt strangely energized and optimistic. They'd gotten this far, hadn't they? They hadn't seen a single cop on their tails since the robbery, they'd survived the desert, and they'd even found plenty of unexpected provisions in the cabin. Carter wasn't particularly superstitious, but he felt like fortune was smiling on them, and he was confident that he would make it down to Mexico with Hazmat and Oiler after all.

  And maybe their plans for founding a new MC weren't completely down the tubes, either. After a couple years of keeping their heads down in Mexico, who knows? Maybe things would blow over enough for them to cross over into the U.S. again and put something together. Hazmat had been angry about the whole Billie situation, but he got angry a lot, and he usually got over it eventually.

  He thought about grabbing another bottle of water from the fridge, then realized his bladder was aching. He opened the back door of the shack, then paused briefly to look at Billie while she slept. Even in the dim light, he could see that her sunburn looked pretty harsh, too.

  But sunburns fade, he thought. That pretty face of hers will be back to normal in a few days. And at least she's safe.

  He wasn't sure why the fact that she was safe should feel so important to him, but it did. He tried to tell himself that it was because she'd be no good as a hostage if she was dead, or that she’d need to be healthy for when he dropped her off somewhere on his way to the border. But somehow, neither of those explanations seemed to fit.

  Carter stepped out, closing the door gently behind him. There were tall weeds with long, serrated leaves growing in thick patches between the cabin and the outhouse. He gave them a cursory glance to make sure they weren't poison ivy, then tromped through them and opened the narrow door to the outhouse, peering in. He couldn't see any snakes or animals inside, but he smacked the side of the doorway a few times to scare them away, just in case. There was no movement, so he stood over the hole, unzipped his jeans, and relieved himself.

  As he did, Carter considered his immediate future some more. How would Billie factor into that? He'd still have to cut her loose before crossing over into Mexico. Ideally, he knew he should do it before meeting up with the others at the truck stop, to keep things from flaring up with Hazmat again. He knew their faith in his leadership was shaken—he was the one who'd insisted they'd be safe hitting that last bank, which was where all of this trouble had started for them—but he was confident that he could earn it back fairly quickly as long as he didn't show up to their rendezvous with Billie on his arm.

  Still, the thought of just turning her loose wasn't sitting well with him. He knew he could move around and evade the law more easily without her, but he'd also come to enjoy her company. She could be funny and resourceful, and her knowledge of the state had helped them out of a couple of jams already.

  And he had to admit that it was difficult to think of walking away from her without ever having the chance to find out how her body would feel pressed against his, or the sounds she made when she was fucking.

  He shook himself off and zipped up, wading through the weeds again to get back to the cabin. When he opened the back door and stepped in, he found himself looking at Billie again, and for the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility of taking her to Mexico with him.

  Why not? She'd admitted that there was nothing and no one to keep her in Cactus Hollow. It seemed like a life of travel and adventure would suit her more than going back to that shitty bar and pouring whiskey shots for hayseeds. Plus, there was clearly an attraction between them. Hell, if the new MC had already existed, he'd probably have invited her to stick around as his girlfriend. So why not before then?

  But crossing the border would already be difficult enough for him, Oiler, and Hazmat, even without the authorities knowing who they were. Everyone would be on the lookout for Billie by now, and taking her with them would mean they couldn't just breeze past the border guards on bikes and hope they wouldn't be searched randomly. They'd have to hide her, or disguise her, or...

  Shit.

  Carter shook his head, trying to clear it. Trying to make plans for her to come with them was stupid, no matter how pretty she was or how much Carter liked having her around. He'd only known her for a day, and that couldn't possibly make her worth scrapping what few plans he and the others had left to get out of this in one piece with their money.

  Billie mumbled something in her sleep and turned over onto
her other side. Carter realized that he'd been standing and staring at her for too long, and he figured she'd probably find that kind of creepy if she happened to wake up and see him standing there. He decided to give her some more time to sleep before they started off again.

  As he walked back to his chair, he felt the tip of his boot connect with something small, sending it skidding across the floor. He followed it and bent down to pick it up, examining it carefully.

  It was a digital scale.

  Carter frowned. He'd seen scales like this one before, mostly when the Hobgoblins had used them to weigh out baggies of coke and heroin before selling them. As far as he could tell, there weren't many other uses for such scales except for weighing ingredients before cooking—and looking around, he couldn't see any food items that would require such precision.

  His eyes fell upon the box of sandwich bags on the table, and a bad feeling started to creep over him.

  Carter opened the back door again, looking out at the foliage between the shack and the outhouse. Earlier, he'd only been interested in whether the plants with the long, spiky leaves were harmful. But now that he really stopped to examine them, he had no trouble recognizing them.

  Still, it could just be a coincidence. He didn't want to wake Billie up until he was sure.

  He looked for the floorboards that appeared newer than the others and took his pliers out of his vest, crouching down. Slowly, carefully, he pried up the nails that held the wood down and lifted the boards up, peering under them.

  There were dozens of bricks of dried marijuana buds wrapped in plastic.

  Fuck me, he thought. The people who use this cabin aren't hunters.

  And they could be coming back any minute.

  Chapter 21

  Billie

  Billie sat in a darkened movie theater with Samantha, sharing a large tub of popcorn with her. Samantha was still eight years old, and as she looked down at her own hands and dress, Billie realized that she was too.

  Without turning around, Billie somehow knew that Panzie was sitting several rows behind them. She could hear his fussy, frustrated sighs and the crinkling of his candy wrappers, and she understood that he was jealous that she'd go to the movies with someone else. She had a sudden urge to turn around and throw popcorn at him for being so silly.

  The previews ended, and Billie experienced those familiar few seconds during which she forgot which movie they were here to see. Then she remembered—Samantha had wanted to see some stupid thing about wizards and goblins, but Billie had insisted on a Western. And as always, Billie won, since her aunt and uncle were so willing to indulge her after the deaths of her parents. This had never really occurred to her when she was a child, but now the realization brought her a nauseating wave of guilt, and she didn't feel hungry for popcorn anymore.

  The movie started with a bombastic soundtrack that included whip-lash effects, and as she looked up at the screen, she saw a handsome outlaw with long brown hair. He was better-looking than the stars of any of the Westerns she'd seen, and it took her a few moments to realize that he wasn't an actor at all—he was Carter, dressed as a cowboy with a dusty black hat on his head. He was on the back of his palomino, under a gnarled tree in the middle of the desert with his head hung low and a noose around his neck. His hands were tied behind his back.

  Billie saw that she must have been mistaken about Panzie sitting behind them. He was in the movie too, sitting atop a mule and wearing a ridiculously large white Stetson hat. A polished gold star was pinned to his shirt, and he was reading from a list of charges.

  “You are hereby charged with robbery, kidnapping, horse thievery, and general wickedness,” Panzie intoned. His dialogue was badly-dubbed. “In the interest of the public good, you will be hanged by your neck until dead.”

  The scene was simply too ludicrous, and Billie burst out laughing. But instead of continuing with the scene, Panzie looked up from the charges and scowled directly at Billie, his eyes dark with rage. Billie was suddenly terrified, but the shrieks of laughter kept coming no matter how much she tried to stifle them.

  “I don't think it's nice, you laughin',” Panzie snarled. “This here mule I got, see, he don't appreciate folks laughin'. Gives him the nutty idea that they're laughin' at him. Now apologize.”

  Billie's laughter ended sharply. She had never seen Panzie so angry and she tried to apologize, but no matter how much she opened and closed her mouth, no sounds would come out. She turned to Samantha for comfort, but instead, Carlito was sitting next to her with eyes that were both sad and accusing.

  “There are two kinds of women in this world, gringo,” he said, cleaning a shot glass with a rag and shaking his head. “Those who are hostages, and those who are accomplices.”

  Then suddenly it was Billie up on the screen, sitting on her pinto under the tree with her hands tied and a length of rope around her sunburned neck. She turned and saw that Carter was hanging from the branch next to her. His horse was gone. Carter looked like he'd been dead for a while, and flies were buzzing in his eyes.

  Billie faced forward, ready to beg Panzie to let her go instead of punishing her for not wanting him the way he'd always wanted her. But Panzie was gone, and the rattlesnake was coiled in front of her horse, flicking its tail.

  “You ain't comin' across the border with us,” the snake said, the last word extending in a sibilant hiss.

  Then the rattler bared its fangs and lunged for the pinto's front legs. The horse jerked with a frightened whinny and Billie felt herself start to slip off its back, the noose tightening around her neck.

  Chapter 22

  Billie

  Billie woke up to find Carter shaking her roughly. He'd already put on his t-shirt and vest, and his saddlebag was slung over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said. “We need to get the fuck out of here right now.”

  She rubbed her eyes. She'd never been good at waking up quickly, and the bizarre nightmare had left her mind feeling fuzzy. “Why? What's going on?”

  “The people who left all this stuff in the shack grow and sell pot.” He pointed to an area in the corner. “Look.”

  Billie peered across the room and immediately saw the pried-up boards and stacked blocks of weed.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  “We're probably right at the edge of their fields,” Carter hissed urgently. “It looks like this is where they package and store the stuff, probably daily. Which means they could show up anytime. We can't be here when they do.”

  Billie hopped up from the bed, and Carter opened the door. But before they could leave, they heard the sound of two loud engines growing closer. The noises startled the horses, who whinnied and reared up.

  “Fuck,” Carter growled. “Too late. We'll never outrun them on those horses.”

  “How many bullets do you have in those guns?” Billie asked.

  Carter produced both guns, checking them. “My gun's got one left, but I have an extra clip for it. The revolver I grabbed from the bank guard is down to two rounds, though, with nothing to reload it.”

  “Maybe it's still more than they've got,” Billie suggested hopefully.

  “Fingers crossed,” Carter said. He replaced the clip in his own gun and handed the revolver to her. “Let's get inside.”

  They slammed the door behind them just as the engines approached the shack. Billie knelt down and snuck a peek through one of the broken windows. She saw three young Native American men pull up on ATVs.

  As they dismounted their vehicles, Billie saw that each of them had a pump-action shotgun strapped to his back.

  “Looks like we're probably not going to win this one with bullets,” Carter commented from behind her. He'd been looking out over her shoulder.

  “Whoever you assholes are,” one of the Native Americans called out, “you're trespassing on a Taysha Indian reservation.” As he said this, he gestured to one of his companions, who went around to the back of the shack.

  Goddamn it, Carter t
hought. So much for slipping out that way. Not that we'd have gotten far anyway.

  “Bullshit!” Billie blurted out. “The reservation border's almost a mile from here.”

  “Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't,” the man said. “But either way, you've got about ten seconds to come out the front door with your hands up. You do that, we can call up the local cops to settle this little territorial misunderstanding for us peacefully. You don't, we'll be within our legal rights to come in there shooting. Either suits me fine, but I hope you'll go with the first option. I borrowed that fridge in there from my uncle, and I'd rather not put holes in it if I can help it.”

  “We both know what you've got stashed in here,” Carter said. “Which means we both know that if my friend and I come out there, you won't be calling up any cops to deal with us. In fact, I'm betting you'll shoot us both in the head and bury us out here so we won't call the cops on you. Am I right?”