Burn: Outlaw Romance (Hotter Than Hell Book 3)
Page 4
“Shh,” I tell her and tighten my hold to keep her from wiggling free. She makes a gargling sound as she struggles for air. “You can start talking or I can start by removing your ear.” I loosen my hold just enough for her to breathe and then I touch the tip of the knife to her skin. She freezes. “Count of three and the bottom half comes off.” The last thing I planned to do was mess with one of the women. I’m making my stand, though, and each man and woman here needs to know I’m not fucking around.
“No need to cut her. I know where it is,” Red says as she steps forward.
I lift my eyes from Pauline. Red appears worried and I never realized how soft-hearted she was. “Good, if she doesn’t talk, I’ll kill her and can get what I need from you.” Will I? It’s easy to say and quite another thing to follow through on. I’m not Fox. Pauline continues crying. I keep my eyes on Red. “One.”
“You asshole,” Pauline says between sobs. “In his room, he hides it under the boards below the window.”
I ease back the knife and glance at Skull. “Go check the room.” I toss Pauline aside and she goes to her knees. I walk back to the table and glance at the men. They appear angry. I doubt it’s over the fact I threatened to kill Pauline. More likely it’s that at least two of the women were in on Fox’s stash of money and we weren’t. Typical Fox. Too bad I already killed the prick.
A few minutes later, Skull comes back carrying a large leather saddlebag. He drops it on the table. I unbuckle it and empty the contents.
Fuck me.
Bundles of hundred dollar bills scatter. I remove a rubber band and count one bundle. “Ten thousand,” I say aloud when I’m finished. I stack the bundles on the table. There are thirty-two total. Coke whistles.
“That’s our money,” says AJ, one of the men who had Fox’s back. I’m surprised he didn’t leave with Oho. He’s in his thirties, bushy beard, bald head, and green eyes. He’s not the biggest guy we have, but no one would call him small. He’s quiet and has an old lady, and I often wondered what the hell he’s doing here. He followed Fox’s dictates without grumbling. Questioning Fox got you dead real quick and each man here knew it. Didn’t mean you couldn’t tell when someone didn’t like something. AJ was different. He did what Fox asked with more of a blank look than anything else.
I stare at AJ for a moment before answering. He doesn’t shift his eyes away like he did earlier. “It’s club money. Who the hell knows what Fox planned to do with it. The Crows have existed on selling drugs for too long. When you have no business to launder the money, that money is safer in bags.” I know I’m defending Fox in a way, but I have a point to make. “This is only one of the problems I want brought to the table.”
I need to take care of Pauline before we finish this conversation. “Skull, take Pauline to the small room.” It’s little more than a large closet with a lock on the outside of the door.
“Fuck you,” Pauline screams as Skull makes a grab for her.
“I’ll have one of the men give you a ride to the Valley when our meeting is over. If you wanna fight it, your ass can go out on the highway right now. You’re done here. If you go to the cops, you’re dead. This is the only free pass you’ll get from this club.” I notice two of the women crying. Red has her arms around them. The other woman, who answers to Tramp, is the youngest. The drugs haven’t fucked up her looks too badly yet. Her hair is stringy and unwashed, and her face thin, but it’s nothing like Pauline’s. Her brown eyes hold intelligence when she isn’t high. I’ve tapped her more than once. She’s loud when she comes and disappears quickly when I’m finished. She’s not a clinger and that’s why I’ve gone back for more. Maybe she’ll have a chance. “If you’re leaving with Pauline, follow her and Skull to the small room. This part of the meeting is no longer your concern.”
Red whispers to the two women she’s holding. They both shake their heads. I glance at Tramp and she shakes her head too. The women live in an old trailer behind the clubhouse. The fucking trailer is a worse place to live than the clubhouse—hotter in the summer and colder in the winter. They need better accommodations. I tuck this thought away for later. Too much shit to handle right now. We’ll see how the women come through withdrawals before tackling smaller problems.
Skull hauls Pauline over his shoulder. She screams the entire way to the small room. When they’re out of sight, I lay down my plans. “Peach City has little to offer the four-wheeler and sand buggy enthusiasts who flock to the desert around here. They camp with their families and friends and bring a heavy need for gas and supplies. They tote their shit in, drive south to the reservation or north to Payson for those supplies. The club owns a chunk of property along the highway. Won’t be cheap to get fuel tanks installed but a small store with essentials would be a good start. We have enough contractors in this room to make it happen within a few months.” Up until today that’s how I earned my living. “We also have bike mechanics. Four-wheelers and buggies aren’t much different from motorcycles. When they break down, we can make money on repairs. I say we pull this club out of the dark side and get our shit together. I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m tired of working for the man, driving to the Valley or Payson to do it, and making just enough money to put a roof over my head. Jobs aren’t easy to come by for felons. I say we take it into our own hands.”
AJ’s chair squeaks as he pushes it back and stands. I expect him to lay down his cut. He jerks his chin at me. “I don’t give a fucking fly’s ass about the color of a man’s skin as long as he’s not dangerous to this club or my woman. I need work ’cause the old lady’s having a baby. I like where you’re going with this. What you got figured for officers now that Fox is dead?” This is not what I expected from AJ, but pending fatherhood does strange things to a man. I’ve been there.
“Congrats, brother.” Coke slams him on the back and several others offer congratulations. I wait for the men to quiet. “Skull is my VP and Vampire Sergeant at Arms. Johns was an accountant before he got locked up in state, so he’s taking over as treasurer. Didn’t think we had any money for him to handle. Now he may have bitten off more than he can chew.” The guys laugh. “Coke wants no part of voting rights, so I say my new officers step aside and let the brothers vote for who they want to sit regularly at the table.”
Curly Sue, who’s been mostly silent, speaks up. “AJ has my vote.”
I look around and see a bunch of heads nod. AJ grunts. He backed Fox, but we all have respect for AJ. Unlike Fox’s other henchmen, AJ stayed out of your business and never ratted if you said something about Fox. “Anyone else?” I ask.
No one volunteers another name. “Show of hands for AJ,” I say.
All the men raise a hand.
For the first time today, I smile. “It looks like you’re the new secretary, AJ.”
“If my old lady doesn’t kill me, I’ll take the job,” he says with a grin.
That’s another thing I like about AJ…he has admitted to being pussy-whipped before and he has never cared about the hell the guys give him. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. I knew that feeling once too.
Sofia
I STAY THE NIGHT in a small Las Cruces hotel. It’s clean, comfortable, and meets my needs.
I call Lorene, the only phone number in my new phone. She answers in a whisper. “Hey, can’t talk right now, girlie. I’ll call you back tomorrow.” The call ends.
Lorene has no idea I’m coming for Frank. She’s been part of the Desert Crows since Frank got my mother addicted to drugs. She also helped my mom escape. She’s a strange one and the closest person I have as a friend. We’ve never met in person, but I know she would try to stop me if she knew my plans. I stare at the phone in my hand before resting it on the nightstand. I need sleep. I close my eyes and think of revenge. The statue of the Virgin Mary and the peace of the mission creep into my mind.
I’m tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of living a half-life and tired of hatred. I fall asleep cradled in the serenity from the church.
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I sleep better than I expected and wake up easily. Today’s the day. I should go for a run, but I decide on a large breakfast instead. There’s a diner across the street from the hotel. After I shower, I walk over. Mountains surround Las Cruces. This is a far cry from the more tropical climate of Florida. It’s just as hot, but low humidity makes it bearable.
I order a full meal. Maybe my last. I’m about four hundred miles from Peach City and I don’t know if my stomach will be able to handle anything when I’m closer to my goal. The food has too much salt and they used canned vegetables for my omelet. The orange juice is concentrate. Even so, it’s surprisingly edible. The coffee is good and strong, which helps too. I gaze out the window at the mountains. They’re beautiful in their own way. If somehow I survive today and escape, could I build a home here?
I cut off the thought. It’s too late for dreams.
The best I could hope for is prison. First degree murder is punishable by the death penalty in Arizona. I checked. So be it.
I toss three dollars on the table and walk out of the diner. I walk back across the street and jump in my car. I pull out of the parking lot and head to the nearest gas station to fill up. My money’s running short and if I were staying in a hotel tonight, I wouldn’t have enough. I jump on the highway and drive toward my destiny.
Daddy, here I come.
I turn off the radio and clear my head so it’s as barren as the landscape and search for peace that won’t come. Actual tumbleweeds roll beneath the tires as my car eats up the miles. I hit Phoenix a little after noon and stop for the restroom and more fuel.
I was right; my stomach can’t handle food right now. I’m not nervous, but the closer I get, the more anticipatory adrenaline pumps through my veins. It’s similar to how I feel before a fight. My phone rings after I finish filling the tank.
“Hey, lady,” I say to Lorene in a bullshit, upbeat voice. I don’t want anything to tip her off. I’ve figured out the general location of the clubhouse from talking to her through the years. I’m hoping she’ll give me a heads up if Frank isn’t there today. I just need to get the info in a roundabout way.
“That baby girl is safe and the shit’s really hit the fan,” she says. I won’t deny it’s a relief. I planned to call the cops before descending on the clubhouse and give them the information about the child they’re holding. This makes things neater. “I have good news for you,” Lorene continues. “You shouldn’t tell someone over the phone that their father is dead, but I didn’t think you’d mind hearing it. Dagger, one of the club members, is the new president. He killed the son of a bitch yesterday. He also got the baby to a safe place. There are some big changes coming.”
“Dagger?” I say in shock. My heart is doing double-time and a knot is growing in the pit of my stomach.
“Yeh, he’s about the nicest piece of man meat in these parts. Makes a woman stupid just lookin’ at all those hot muscles. I’ve had my eye on him for a while now. Killed the man who killed his wife, stabbed him to death. Did his time and has been running with the Crows since. He didn’t like the bullshit your daddy did with the club. That was sure as shit just from lookin’ in his eyes. That man carries a lot of anger, reminds me of you sometimes. I’m telling ya, the club can only go up with him as prez.” She gives a throaty laugh. “I need to go. I just wanted you to know that your old man is no longer breathin’ air. Days like today are made for celebrating. Have a cold one for me.”
She clicks off and I listen to dead air for a moment without pulling my phone away from my ear. My fingers tremble when I finally toss it in the seat next to me and grip the steering wheel. My vision goes dark around the edges. I breathe in and out and before I know it, I’m hyperventilating. The rage builds. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time. “No,” I scream into the car. This can’t be happening. All these years of planning and my revenge is gone in one phone call. Gone when I’m finally within an hour of fulfilling my dream to destroy the man who caused so much pain.
I don’t remember pulling out of the gas station and I’m barely aware of my surroundings. My phone gives directions and I mindlessly follow. Before I realize it, I’m heading out of Phoenix on Highway 87. I’m on autopilot and I need someone to suffer. Why? No one has a right to kill my father except me. No one!
Dagger… why the hell would he ruin my plans now? My rage carries me through the desert. I finally see the sign for Peach City. The name is a joke. The area is practically barren with only small shrubs and hills in the background. “Fucking Dagger,” I murmur out loud.
I see the burned out property I’ve been looking for on the east side of the road. Lorene mentioned in one of her phone calls that it was a nostalgic junkyard of motorcycles and bicycles until it burned to the ground a few years ago. I turn onto the road directly past the blackened lot and travel about a mile. The pavement ends and I’m on dirt. I bounce around over potholes but don’t consider slowing. My focus is on reaching the clubhouse.
I only slow to make the turn between double wood poles that signal I’ve found what I’m hunting for. Men are working in the yard dragging junk into a pile. The area is mostly clear and the stack of debris is huge. I stop the car and slide my gun from beneath the seat. Several of the men stop working and check me out. Keeping the gun in my lap, I remove it from the holster and slip it beneath the waistband of my jeans. I swing the car door open and step out into the boiling heat of the afternoon sun.
The mostly bald-headed men stand watching me—some with wife-beater T-shirts and some shirtless. They’re scum. My father’s scum. He owned these men, pulled them around by proverbial rings in their noses. “I’m here to see Dagger,” I say loudly while stepping over a pile of motorcycle parts. I walk a few feet forward.
A man working more to the side of the building drops a shovel and strolls my way. And, it is a stroll. He’s confident and deadly; you can tell by the way he holds himself. A red and black bandana wraps around his brow without hiding his shaved head. Even this far away, I notice his eyes. They’re shards of blue that stand out from the sweat and grime on his face. His chest is bare with defined muscles that slide beneath the skin as he strides a few steps closer. Dirty sweat trails down his chest in rivulets. The tattoos stand out on his tanned skin. Prison tats from the color. I lift my eyes to his without dissecting the artwork. I’ve seen few men as stunning as he is. A tingle glides across my nipples and lower to settle between my thighs.
This is what Lorene was talking about and I know who I’m staring at.
My rage from the last hour turns to a low simmer. It’s difficult to disregard the sexual signals thrumming through my body. He’s tall and younger than most of the other men out here. God decided to play a joke on every red-blooded, dark-skinned woman when he gave this man breath. He should be modeling and not associating with trash. Who am I kidding? He’s trash and just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean he has a brain.
He isn’t smiling, but it doesn’t take away from his gorgeous face. He has high cheekbones and a square jaw with a few days’ stubble. I want to hold his gaze, but I can’t stop myself from taking another swipe of his body. I need a bottle of wine and an hour to run my tongue over the crazy ridges on the sides of his abs that lead straight down into mega-man territory.
Am I drooling? I’ve seen men look at me in a similar fashion. Most I ignore. Every so often, I take one for a ride and fuck his brains out. Nope, won’t happen this time; this one belonged to my father. He’s a killer just like Frank was. I’ll be joining that club soon enough, and, for the craziest reason… I smile.
He smiles back having no clue that I want him to die. The smile is full and sensuous with a dimple on one side of his mouth. My pulse quickens with the need to bite his lower lip and sink my fingernails into his flesh.
Fuck, stop, I implore myself silently.
He knows the effect he’s having on me because his smile widens. “I’m Dagger. May I help you?” His name on his lips brings me out of the spell he’s wra
pped around me.
The world goes still. My entire life spirals to this moment—my mother, foster parents, social workers who never cared, and the tears of a scared child with no one to fight for her. Frank…Fox, whatever the fucking name he goes by, my father—is the man who destroyed my mother and killed her unborn children.
The gun is in my hand without a thought. Darkness invades my vision. It all happens so quickly. I aim dead center for his chest. Someone yells, “Gun,” beside me. Pull the trigger, I tell myself. Fucking pull. The barrel moves higher—over his head and the gun goes off at almost the same time someone tackles me.
My head hits something hard. Too hard. The bright sun fades to black.
Dax
“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?” I yell. I run at the woman, but Coke and Loki beat me to her. They take her down hard and she cracks her head against the motor of an old bike.
She doesn’t struggle as Loki forces her hands behind her back. She doesn’t move at all. Coke jerks her head up and there’s a nice gash at the hairline. Coke has her gun. He gives it over when I place my hand out. It’s a small .38 revolver. I release the cylinder and spin it to see that one bullet is missing. What the fuck? I’ve never seen the bitch. For a second, because of her darker skin, I wonder if she’s one of Moon’s. I don’t see Moon sending a woman to kill me, though. He’d send his right-hand man, Gomez, and chances are good I would never see him coming.
“Is she alive?” I ask Loki. He checks her pulse while blood runs down the side of her face and drips into the dirt.
“She’s still breathing,” he replies.
I’m trying to process what just happened. She asked for me then pointed the gun directly at me. I should have a bullet hole in my chest. A split-second before she pulled the trigger, she shifted the barrel and the bullet went over my head. Why?