by Cat Mason
“Put your children to bed, Mother,” Doc says, rubbing his hands together. “It’s story time.”
“Found the driver at some shit hole on Merc’s turf,” I say, scanning the empty room for unwanted ears. “He’s been handled.”
Seeming satisfied, Stone nods. “Was he forthcoming?”
“Not exactly,” I admit. “Took some convincin’.”
“It was fuckin’ beautiful,” Doc says, slapping Huck on the back, sending the old man into a coughing fit. “Almost as much fun as the time Huck and me fucked up that shithead fuckin’ with Nita’s horses.”
“Good for nothin’ Tinsley,” Huck laughs. “Poor bastard never did grow a single hair on his chest after we shot him with that rock salt.”
“You shot the guy with salt?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Nita wouldn’t stop yappin’ about this punk workin’ up her best mare every night,” Huck explains. “If I’d killed a kid in her damn barn, that hellcat would’ve put my balls in a goddamn jar in the kitchen window.”
“Shit,” Doc laughs. “She took your balls long before that, Brother. Try 1979.”
“Anyway.” Yanking a hand through my hair, I clear my throat. “Guy was hired out a few months ago. Job was mostly a surveillance gig. Said that changed with the last money drop. Gave me the name Reed. Got Jinks workin’ on it now.”
“Reed?” Torch bites out, his hands balling into fists.
“Yeah, that’s all he gave me,” I reply, turning my attention to him. “You know the guy? Where to find him?”
“Yeah.” His body goes rigid, expression ice fucking cold. Snatching Doc’s smokes off the table, he lights one up. “Our younger brother, Reed, was buried five years ago in Tall Oaks Cemetery.” Yanking his keys from his pocket, he charges for the door.
“Where the fuck are you goin’?” Doc shouts, catching his cigarette pack in mid-air when Torch throws it back at him.
“I’m late for a lunch beatin’.”
“Don’t you mean meetin’?” Huck asks, the wheels in his head turning.
“No, old man. Pretty sure he didn’t.”
“Follow him,” Stone says, worry flashing in his eyes. “Schrader, you too. Shit goes bad, handle it and get back here. I’ll find out what Jinks has so far.”
“I’m on it.”
With Schrader at my back, I haul ass out to my bike that, thanks to the boys in the shop, looks better than ever. The second the bad bitch roars to life, I lay on the throttle and tear out of the lot. Torch is hauling ass through town by the time we catch up with him, and he sure as fuck isn’t making it easy to follow his ass. His back tire fishtails when he takes a hard right onto the damn highway, driving like he has a goddamn death wish.
The moment he exits the highway, I know exactly where he’s heading. Since the night Henley’s ex showed up at her place, I’ve had Jinks going over every detail of the guy’s life with a fine-tooth comb. At the base of the valley, the Michaelson Country Club comes into view, where Senator Hammon is speaking at the groundbreaking ceremony for the new tennis courts. A speech that you can bet Daniel will be attending since he can’t pull his nose from daddy’s ass long enough to catch his breath.
Torch bypasses the lot completely, driving right onto the goddamn golf green. “Shit!” I roar, nearly sliding to a damn stop. Leaping off my bike, I run up the perfectly landscaped walkway. “Torch! Goddammit.”
Schrader and I round the corner of the building in time to see Torch stop his bike right in front of the platform where the Senator is supposed to give his speech. Hammon stands talking to two other men. One of them that worthless tool who had his back at Henley’s. Hammon’s eyes go wide. “Donovan?”
Leaping onto the platform, Torch kicks Hammon in the chest. Stumbling back, the guy falls off the back edge, onto the grass. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Torch roars, diving on top of him. Yanking Hammon up by the shirt, Torch’s fist connects with his face. “I’ll fuckin’ end you right here.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” I bark at Schrader, my feet already in motion. “No way I’m dealin’ with Shy if you end up in cuffs over this shit and miss your own weddin’.”
“My woman likes me in cuffs!” he shouts, yanking out his phone as he hauls ass for his bike. “Especially if she’s the one with the keys!”
Grounds security swarm Torch, along with Hammon’s man. Yanking him off Hammon, they slam him to the ground, working to secure him when he fights back. Torch is cuffed and pulled to his feet before I can even get around the platform. “Jesus Christ,” I hiss through my teeth, taking in the guy’s busted nose and lip.
“I suggest you think twice before taking your swing, Mr. Morrison.” Spitting blood, Hammon gets to his feet with the help of his man. “Unless you want to share a cell with your friend.”
“Not why I’m here,” I answer honestly. “I tried to stop this shit before it went down. That obviously didn’t happen. Not that you don’t deserve the beat down.” I shrug my shoulders, pissing him off. Not that I give a fuck if I’ve hurt his feelings.
His body stiffens. “I see.” Straightening his tie, he attempts to stand tall. “And what exactly have I done to deserve another assault by you and your kind?”
“Sir,” some shit in a suit says, stepping between Hammon and me. “I’ll need to check you for weapons as well. It’s procedure.”
“Knock yourself out, pal.” Spreading my arms out wide, I challenge him. “Unlike your guy here, I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”
While the guy pats me down, Hammon and I stare at each other. Neither of us say a word. We don’t need to. This bastard knows the score. Not that it will stop me from laying it out for his ass again if I feel like that’s warranted. My claim on Henley is being made crystal fucking clear from this moment on. So will the distance I demand he keep.
I dare anyone to challenge that shit. Especially some uppity piece of shit with more money than sense. Had he done shit right, she’d still be wearing his ring and we wouldn’t be standing here. Since she isn’t, it’s time he ghosts from her life for good.
If that means I have to do that for him by digging a hole, so fuckin’ be it.
No love lost here.
“He’s clean, Mr. Hammon,” the guy says, stepping away from me. “Only weapon we found was on your assailant.”
Shit.
“I highly doubt that, Hershel,” Hammon sneers like the damn snake that he is. Yanking a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he attempts to clean up his face.
“County Sheriffs are pulling in now,” Hershel replies.
“Good,” Hammon nods. “I want them both taken into custody. Had the Senator been here—”
“Think we both know that’s not who he came here for,” I say, my comment wiping the curled lip smile right off his condescending face. Shrugging, I bite back a laugh. “Dear ol’ daddy’s safe. Trust me. Now you, that’s a different story.”
“I don’t take highly to threats, Mr. Morrison,” he counters, throwing down the blood-stained cloth. “Not from Donovan. Not from you or your biker friends. Not from anyone.”
I step closer. He steps back. I smile, loving that he’s intimidated by me, even if he doesn’t want to admit that shit. “I don’t make threats,” I ground out, feeling Hershel at my back. “I eliminate them.”
While the manager of the country club leads Hammon away to a luxury suite to smooth things over, Hershel slaps a set of cuffs on me and leads me out front, where the law is waiting. Torch is already sitting in the back of Dobbs’s vehicle. Standing beside the opened back door, Dobbs is talking to Fowler and a member of the security team.
Hands cuffed behind his back, Torch leans up, his forehead pressed against the back of the front seat. Eyes tightly closed, his entire jaw ticks angrily. I have no doubt that if he weren’t cuffed and secured in the damn car, he would be tearing into anyone and everyone who stood between him and Hammon.
Even with all this going down, I grin seeing that Schrader’s bike is long
gone. At least with him heading back to the clubhouse, it’s safe to say Stone will have the club lawyer waiting at the station. Rachelle Harding is one tough bitch when it comes to navigating the sticky legal shit we manage to get into. If she can keep Schrader’s crazy ass out of prison, I have no doubt she can handle the blowback on this without batting an eye.
“I should’ve known,” Dobbs grumbles, shooting me a glare. “What the hell, Trent? This you handlin’ your business?”
“Nah,” I grunt when the security fuck and Fowler shove me up against the side of the car, Fowler making a big show of patting me down. “Torch and me were thinkin’ about takin’ up golf. Heard it’s real therapeutic and shit.”
“That so?” he asks, sounding annoyed. “So that makes trespassing and assault part of your short game?”
“I never laid hands on that bastard.” My temper is raging. “Don’t ask me what went down if you’re gonna start spoutin’ off bullshit charges. Hell, Jerry, you’re startin’ to sound like your lackey,” I mutter, jerking my chin at Fowler.
“Watch your tone, son,” he warns, narrowing his eyes. “Remember who you’re talkin’ to.”
“I know exactly who you are,” I say with a jerk of my head. “You’re the guy who’ll be spittin’ his teeth next time he calls me son.”
“Read him his rights and put his ass in back with his buddy,” he barks at Fowler. “I’ll book ‘em while you talk to the victim.” Turning his back to me, Dobbs rounds the front of his vehicle and climbs behind the wheel.
Looking up at the building, I spot Hammon making his way down the steps, with four men flanking him. “Victim my ass,” I seethe, spitting in his direction. “The guy’s a fuckin’ snake.”
“Move,” Fowler growls, shoving me toward the car.
“Second time you’ve put me in cuffs,” I taunt him. “Think you can make the shit stick this time, asshole?”
“What have you done with Henley?” Yanking open the door, he crowds my space. “You scare her into movin’ into that fuckin’ compound so you can keep her away from her family and friends?”
“I’m keepin’ my girl safe.” Turning to face him, I smile. “And what I do to Henley is none of your goddamn business, shithead. But you can bet you’ll be one sorry piece of shit, you ever touch her again.”
“That a threat?” he asks, shoving me again.
“Nope.” Shaking my head, I climb into the back of the car. “That’s a fuckin’ promise.”
Twelve
Colt
A few hours in the county lockup did little to ease the tension. If anything, the confined space has only added to Torch’s fury. The moment the doors closed on the holding cell, he started with the damn pacing. Not long after that, he began ranting about getting his hands on Hammon again. Crazy bastard. Lucky for him there aren’t any cameras in this corner of the county shithole to get any of the threats on tape.
“The fuck were you thinkin’?” I snap, irritated with this entire situation.
“I wasn’t,” he fires back without hesitation. “All I could see was red.”
“Goin’ after Hammon like you did was reckless and fuckin’ stupid,” I ground out, stating the obvious. “Not how we work, Brother. You know that.”
“Not everyone can turn that shit off like you can.” Turning to face me, he stares me down. His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Sometimes a loss so goddamn deep creates a rage that never goes away. That blame, the guilt that weighs you down, is fueled over time by something or someone. For me, that’s Hammon.”
“Have to ask you to lay that out for me,” I tell him, attempting to piece shit together myself, but figuring he can fill in the blanks.
The clicking of high heels on the tile flooring has my head snapping up. Hips swaying in a tight black pants suit, Rachelle Harding tucks a file folder under her arm and struts our way. Her long blonde hair swishes back and forth with every calculated step she takes. She’s the classiest legal shark I’ve ever met. “Looks like I’ve hooked myself a leather clad twofer, and Schrader is nowhere to be found,” she says, shaking her head. “Hell has indeed frozen over.”
“Thanks for coming, Rachelle.” Leaving Torch to his thoughts, I push to my feet, and make my way over to the bars.
“It’s my job,” she says with a wink. “Made a few calls. Your bikes went to impound. Can’t handle that until morning.”
“How’s it look?” I ask, jerking my chin up the hall, where I can hear Dobbs’s bitching to someone on the phone.
She sighs. “Donovan is looking at multiple charges from both Daniel Hammon and the country club.” Flipping open the file, she skims the top page. “There was also an unregistered firearm pulled off him at the scene.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “What the hell, man?”
“I wasn’t packin’,” he blurts, whipping around to face us. “Told them that wasn’t mine. My piece is back at the shop.”
“I’ve already requested prints be pulled from the weapon and tested against the ones taken when you were brought in,” Rachelle explains. “As for the other charges, we can probably plead them down, but I won’t know for sure until the D.A. gets his hands on the case file.” Closing the folder, she meets my eyes. “As for you, Trent, they aren’t pressing any charges at the moment. Doesn’t mean that won’t change. It very well can if Daniel’s legal team decides to go that route.” Her bright red lips twitch in amusement. “If he pushes it, I’ll bury him with a civil suit the size of his ego. The tape is crystal clear. You never lifted a finger.”
“Fuck,” Torch hisses, coming up beside me. Grabbing onto the bars with both hands, he squeezes so tight his knuckles turn white. “What about bail?”
“You’re a risk to the public,” Rachelle replies, shrugging her shoulder. “Or, at least, that’s the picture they’re going to paint to a judge and jury. You showed up uninvited, to a venue where the current state Senator was scheduled to be speaking. You then threatened and attacked his son in front of half a dozen witnesses. It’s safe to say bail is going to be a no go, but I’ll do what I can when we see the judge,” she assures him, giving one of his hands a quick squeeze. Tucking the folder beneath her arm again, she moves her eyes to me. “They’ll be down soon to cut you loose; I’ll give you a ride back to the clubhouse.”
“Appreciated,” I say to her back as she walks away. Once she disappears through the doorway, I turn to Torch. “Back to Hammon. Don’t have much time. Start talkin’.”
“Fuck.” Yanking a hand through his hair, he sags back against the wall and looks up at the ceiling. “When Reed died, everything went to shit. Our family shattered under that weight.” His eyes go cold and vacant. “Mom checked out. Packed up her shit and took our other brother, Roman, to Florida. Reed’s identical twin. He plays the part of both sons to placate her emotional break. Lucky to hear from them once or twice a year. They blamed me. Hell, they should,” he grunts, whacking his head back against the wall. “It’s my fault. I left him alone when I knew his head was twisted up.”
“And Hammon?” I ask when he pauses, knowing there’s a lot more to this story he isn’t telling me.
“Mom and Roman were away at some college weekend tour shit at the University of Virginia. I was supposed to crash at the house with him. I bailed on him for a hook up and went straight to work the next mornin’ from her place.” Pain fills his eyes. Yanking a hand through his hair, he blows out a hard breath. “I called Henley on my way and asked her to check in on Reed and bring him breakfast. She found him in his bed. He’d swallowed an entire bottle of our mother’s anti-psychotics with a bottle of Jameson.” Closing his eyes tightly, he blows out a ragged breath. “Hammon showed up about the same time I did. Started pointin’ fingers. All of ‘em at me. It didn’t take much to create a wedge that pushed me out of my own goddamn family. Mom was in no shape to question anything he said. Losing Reed like that was the final blow to her unstable sanity. The only one who didn’t turn their back on
me was Henley. She may be a stubborn pain in my ass, but for whatever reason, she never fully bought into the bullshit Hammon was spewin’ about me.”
“You think he’s behind what happened to Henley?” I ask, hearing a door open at the other end of the hall.
“Fucker always rubbed me the wrong way, but I can’t see what he has to gain by killin’ her,” his answer is almost immediate. “I want to put it on him more than you know, but I can’t say for sure what part he played.” Dropping his head, he opens his eyes to look at me. “What I can say is I know in my goddamn bones that if he’s not behind it, he knows who is.”
“Agreed,” I nod, moves that need to be made already beginning to click into place in my head. If Hammon or one of his thugs had a gun planted on Torch, that pushes us to act before knowing for sure if he hired Wheeler or not. Something like this requires action. Justice. Hammon knows that. Which leaves me questioning exactly what his motives are and what the bastard is trying to prove.
Henley
Waking up in Colt’s bed alone is disappointing, to say the least. I had fully planned to get my hands and mouth on him the moment we woke up. I want to unravel his control, to watch his eyes as I suck his cock. My body warms at the thought. His eyes on me, my name growled from his lips as he fists my hair in his large, rough hands.
Shy yelling and banging on the door like Feds during a drug bust leave me little time for fantasizing. Throwing clothes on quickly, I crack the door. “Is there a fire?” I ask, arching a brow.
Looking me up and down, she smiles huge. “No, it looks like Colt finally managed to put that out.”
“Fuck a duck,” I breathe, feeling my face flame. “Is it that obvious?”
“Oh yeah,” she laughs. “Schrader joked about checkin’ the building for structural damage.”