Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  She stepped away from Ellie and slid her arm around Rémi’s shoulders. “Why can’t you find someone more like Rémi? He’d make the perfect husband and father.”

  Uncomfortable with the praise, he ducked his head. But not before catching Alyssa’s raised brow and the skepticism on her face. What the hell was her problem? She didn’t know him well enough to judge one way or another.

  “Mom, quit being so silly. You know Rémi’s a Wolf too. I need to find a Bear or a Turtle.” Her grin broadened. “Like Corey.”

  “Well you won’t be marrying a drug addict, that’s for sure. If he cleans up his act, then we’ll talk.”

  Ellie’s face turned red, her fingers scrunching her apron. “Corey is not a drug addict. He’s tried pot a time or two. Big deal. Who hasn’t?”

  Rémi winced, anticipating what was coming next. Martha paled and her features sharpened. “What are you saying, Ellie? If he’s got you using—”

  Guilt flashed in Ellie’s eyes as she cut her mother off. “Mom, Mom. Calm down. I’m clean.”

  “And you better stay that way.”

  Ellie became very interested in stirring the ice in her drink with a straw.

  Martha squeezed Rémi’s shoulder before inclining her head toward Alyssa. “We’ll need to strategize soon, decide how we want to approach getting input from the band members.”

  “Rémi and I will do some brainstorming today. How about we meet tomorrow to go over our ideas and agree on a plan?”

  “Why don’t the two of you come over to my place for lunch around noon?”

  They agreed and after a quick kiss on Ellie’s cheek, Martha left through the front entrance. Before the door could close, it swung open again. Pierre “Pete” Lechêne walked in, followed by a group of his Guardian buddies. A hush fell over the diner as the few remaining patrons lowered their gazes to their plates, everyone intent on making themselves invisible. Not a target.

  Ellie jumped up and beelined for the kitchen. Because of her mother’s political leanings, she wasn’t a favorite of the Guardians either.

  Pete took his time surveying the diner and, spotting Alyssa, barked out a laugh. Hidden from Pete’s view by her bowl of soup, Alyssa’s fingers clenched around the stem of her knife. Good girl. Pete was a menace. Especially without Chaz to rein him in.

  “Lookie here boys. Rémi’s slumming again,” he called to his friends as he strutted down the aisle to their table. “Think he’ll mind if I take a turn with his new toy?”

  Anger and adrenaline surged through Rémi’s veins, tightening his muscles until every tendon and sinew seemed to curl in on itself.

  This was going to be bad. Very bad. He just hoped no one ended up dead.

  As Rémi started to slide out of his seat to confront Pete, Alyssa placed her hand over his clenched fist and gave a small squeeze. The last thing this situation needed was more testosterone.

  Don’t show any weakness.

  Even though her fight-or-flight instinct was screaming to get the hell out fast, Alyssa stared down Pete and his flat bulldog nose. And he returned her challenge. This was not a man who backed down easily.

  With his beady black eyes pinning her, he closed the distance between them. Although Rémi had at least four inches on the man, Pete had the compact muscled frame of a body builder. And six pals to back him up. Rémi only had her; they wouldn’t stand a chance if things got physical.

  Pete stopped at the end of their booth and flattened his palms on the chipped Formica tabletop. His gaze turned to the wet marks on Rémi’s shirt left by the water he’d spilled, and slid down to Rémi’s lap. Pete chuckled, the sound harsh and bitter. “What are you—fourteen?” Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he addressed his friends. “Lover Boy is so hot for the SQ bitch, he chucked his muck.”

  Rémi pulled his hand from under hers and slid out of the booth. Pete took a step back while Rémi took another step forward, positioning himself directly in front of Pete. “Shut the fuck up,” Rémi said straight into the shorter man’s face. The barely restrained violence in his tone shot spikes of fear into her belly.

  Pete purposely eyed Rémi’s lower half. “You’re an embarrassment. No better than your whore mother, spreading her legs for every white man who tossed her a quarter.”

  Hatred sizzled in the air. Alyssa lunged out of the booth and insinuated herself between the two men. Only unlike Chaz that day in the community center parking lot, Pete refused to make space for her. Instead, he dug his fingers into her hips and yanked her against him.

  A knee to the groin and a jab to the throat would lay him flat, but she wanted to defuse the situation, not inflame it. Ignoring his groin pressing against her stomach and his tobacco-laced breath making her gag, she kept her voice calm and controlled. “Let. Go. Of. Me.” Pete laughed and jerked her more tightly against him. That is, until Rémi wrapped his arm around her waist and wrenched her away.

  With one long arm, he pushed her behind him in some misguided attempt to protect her. Not that she didn’t appreciate it, but she knew guys like Pete, had lived with them when she’d been undercover. If she didn’t stand up to him now, he’d be on her case forever. How could she possibly run the rez police if everyone thought she’d hide behind a man whenever someone looked at her sideways? “It’s okay, Rémi. I can handle him. He’s not even half the badass he thinks he is.”

  “Is that right?” Before she could blink, Pete reached around Rémi’s shoulder, grabbed a hunk of her hair, and tugged hard. Burning pain enveloped her head, but she choked back the scream building in her throat.

  Don’t let him see. Don’t let him win. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Rémi cocked his arm back to take a swing at Pete. She stopped him with a sharp “Don’t.”

  Grinding her thumb into the underside of Pete’s wrist, she increased the pressure until he grunted and released her hair. Her eyes hard and her voice strong, she raised herself on her toes to put them eye to eye. “Seems to me you’re trying to make up for something.”

  Pete frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about? Make up for what?”

  Rémi’s hands gripped her waist, but she ignored the warning. Smiling prettily, she batted her lashes. “Your dinky dick, of course.”

  Amid snickers from Pete’s merry band of assholes, Rémi picked her up by the waist and yanked her out of Pete’s reach. And thank God for that. Pete came at her, arms raised to throttle her neck. Rémi pushed her to the side and stepped in front of Pete. The collision sent both men sprawling to the floor. Grunts and groans rang out as the two men rolled over and over like they were in one of those old cartoons where all you saw was a cloud with the occasional arm or leg escaping. A chair screeched across the linoleum when a stray foot connected with it.

  As Pete’s friends stood by watching the show, calling out encouragements and insults like fans at a cage match, an old woman ran out of the kitchen. Seeing the wreckage, she flung her hands in the air and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Stop! Stop! You’re destroying my restaurant! Ellie, call Chief Whitedeer.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t loud enough to capture either Rémi’s or Pete’s attention.

  Ellie stood rooted to the spot, gaze glued to the whirl of bodies knocking over tables and chairs. The woman shoved Ellie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, girl? Make the call now or there won’t be a diner left for you to work in.”

  The woman rushing toward the fight spurred Alyssa into action. She didn’t have her Glock or her badge, and her jurisdiction was a little shaky, but dammit, she was still the law here. Her eyes darted around the dining area, searching for a weapon or something to make a loud noise. Maybe if she startled them enough, they’d stop.

  Not seeing anything suitable in the table area, she raced over to the breakfast counter. The sugar jar? Too small. She scanned the walls. This was a native restaurant. Why the hell wasn’t there a tomahawk or a freaking bow and arrow on display?

  Ellie hung up the phone and reached below the counter. Straighten
ing, she brandished a high-powered shotgun. “Looking for something like this? We keep it loaded.”

  Alyssa smiled as she reached for the Ithaca Deerslayer. “I could kiss you.”

  Ellie grinned back. “No really, it’s okay.”

  Marching across the diner, Alyssa shoved through the wall of spectators, using the gun like a club. When she got within a couple feet of the rolling mass, she raised the gun to the ceiling, pumped it and pulled the trigger. Then she did it again. The loud bang and the plaster falling down on their heads finally caught everyone’s attention. Rémi and Pete stopped fighting and rolled apart.

  Pressing a hand to his jaw, Pete stared up at her. Drops of blood rolled into his angry eyes from a long cut on his forehead. After wiping them off with his forearm, he flexed his fingers and grimaced. An unhealthy joy filled her; maybe he’d broken a bone or two. She pointed the Deerslayer at him. “Get up and get out. Take your buddies with you.”

  The old woman stepped out from behind Alyssa and shook her fist in Pete’s mangled face. “And don’t come back. I don’t need business like yours, Pierre Lechêne.”

  Aided by the Guardians, Pete struggled to his feet. “Shut up, old woman.” He spat on the ground, leaving a slimy red mess.

  Rémi got up and stood beside Alyssa. Blood dripped from his nose and a gash on his chin. A bruise was already coloring the skin around his left eye. Catching her sideways glance, his split lips twitched. He leaned over until his breath brushed her ear. “You should see the other guy.”

  Biting back a laugh, Alyssa pumped the gun, still pointed dead center on Pete’s chest. “Out.” Behind them, Ellie tried to comfort the apparent owner of the diner, who was mumbling something about Pete’s poor mother.

  As Pete came parallel to them, he paused, cold gaze darting between her and Rémi before finally settling on her. “Get this through your stupid blonde head. We don’t want you or any of your fucking SQ cronies here. Blackriver First Nation is ours. Your so-called ‘task force’ is a crock. Just one more example of the white man trying to pull one over on us.”

  Rémi crossed his arms. “Come on, Pete. Drop it and go.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Alyssa tipped the gun up toward the ceiling. “If you really want to change things, stop acting like an asshole and help us.”

  Pete snorted. “That’s just treaty talk. You’re telling me one thing now, but the SQ has a plan and it doesn’t fucking matter what your task force finds. You’ll make things go your way.”

  A fist gripped her gut as his words echoed Landry’s: Whatever happens, in four months, this force needs to be operational and you need to be in charge of it. Pete was right. She was going to screw him over, him and every other resident of Blackriver. Whether she wanted to or not. Pushing aside her misgivings, she bluffed. “I won’t abuse my authority.”

  That earned her a scowl. “Of course you fucking will. Just like the SQ always does. And if you don’t do it directly, you turn a blind eye to others who do. As long as it gets us red fuckers out of your way.”

  Alyssa opened her mouth to object, but what could she really say?

  Pete straightened his spine and pushed his shoulders back, despite the obvious pain it was causing him. “This is First Nations land, and the Guardians, honorable Indians who value the old traditions, we will fight you to the death. We won’t let you take what little we have left.”

  “That’s enough, Pete,” Rémi said. “Save the rabble rousing for your meetings. We’re not interested.”

  Pete smirked, indicating Rémi with a dismissive gesture. “Have fun with your mongrel, Snow Queen. He’s not even a real Indian. But then, we’re all the same to you. Nothing but savages.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Chaz pulled into the Tim Horton’s parking lot and slid his Silverado into an empty spot next to a badass Escalade. It had to be Nitro’s. Who else could afford a Cadillac in this two-bit town?

  Chaz loved his ride. Had worked his ass off to earn it. But he wanted more. His vision for the future of his people shimmered before him, within reach of his fingertips. But like a hunter awaiting the perfect shot, he had to keep his cool and bide his time. He was too close to achieving his dream to risk ruining things by appearing too eager.

  Turning off the engine, he hopped out of the pickup and sauntered into the coffee shop. Nitro waved him over to a table on the opposite side. Chaz suppressed a smile when he spotted the emergency exit at the end of a short corridor, within fifteen feet of the table. Those Vipers knew their shit.

  As he took the empty seat across from Nitro, Chaz glanced at the second cup of coffee just out of reach of the man’s hand. “Someone joining us?”

  Nitro inched the cup toward Chaz and shook his head. Chaz picked it up and took a sip, enjoying the sharp flavor of deep roasted beans. Apparently, the man was into civilized discussions. He’d have preferred some of Sarah’s strawberry drink, but for the millions he was going to reap from this business association, he’d have had a fucking tea party with the man. And enjoyed it.

  Chaz brought the steaming liquid to his lips again and watched Nitro do the same. Chaz despised blonds. Male or female didn’t matter. He was an equal-fucking-opportunity hater. With his short hair and ripped body, Nitro could have been a model on the cover of one of those fitness magazines.

  If Chaz had been stupid enough to let the man’s appearance mislead him, the dual snake tattoos on his bulging biceps, not to mention Nitro’s sterling reputation as the Viper’s head hitman, would have set him straight. Each time Nitro lifted his cup, the snakes seemed to come alive, forked tongues flickering and bodies undulating.

  Unease curled around Chaz’s neck like a noose, choking him. He coughed to ease the pressure. Why was he acting like such a pussy? He wasn’t some fucking Tonto willing to sit back and let the Lone Ranger lead the way. This was his show. “Kid told me you and your men enjoyed the sample I sent yesterday.”

  Nitro put his cup down and, with slow precise movements, wiped his lips before speaking. “We did.”

  Talking to this guy was like pulling teeth, but only half as fun. Chaz wanted to grab the blond motherfucker by the front of his black muscle shirt and shake some more words out of him. But he also wanted to see the sunset. “Let’s deal.”

  “How much can you deliver?”

  “Couple hundred kilos.”

  Nitro scratched at his stubbled cheek, the sound surprisingly loud in the busy restaurant. “By when?”

  Using hydroponics in their underground installation, they’d been able to boost production and shorten the overall lifecycle. Including time to harvest and cure the crop, they could deliver in two or three weeks. “Early August.”

  “That fits in with our distribution plans.”

  “Glad to hear it man, but we need to talk dollars. Terms?”

  Nitro smiled. “Nothing gets by you does it?”

  No argument here. He’d been screwed over by the white man often enough to know better than to let his guard down. Even when he thought he had the upper hand.

  Leaning back in the plastic chair, Nitro folded an ankle on the opposite knee. Shitkickers, even in this heat. Chaz looked down at his Nikes. Some badass he was. The corner of Nitro’s mouth curled up, whether in a smile or a smirk, Chaz wasn’t certain.

  “One third after negotiations and the rest upon delivery.”

  That was fair. “Deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Not so fast, Geronimo.”

  Geronimo, my ass. Chaz wanted to clock the motherfucker, but that wouldn’t pay the bills. He leveled Nitro with an open stare. “Got a problem?”

  “We have to know that you can produce quality stuff in the quantities we need. This is a big operation. If all you’ve got is some dude growing a few plants in the back of his closet, we’re out.”

  Chaz bit back a laugh. Yeah, he had a closet all right. A big fucking thousand square foot underground closet. “What kind of proof do you want?”

  “Boss wants me to visit yo
ur installation before we sign off.”

  Nitro he could handle. Antoine “The Carver” Blanchette, president of the local Vipers chapter, was someone Chaz preferred to avoid. Rumor had it the man enjoyed carving his kill count into his victims’ stomachs. “Come back to Blackriver with me right now. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  “No can do. The SQ is planning a raid on our bunker tonight. We need to get all our shit out, then go party it up in one of those outdoor restaurants on rue Prince-Arthur.”

  Chaz snorted. “Yeah, ’cause no one’s going to notice a bunch of tattooed bikers in wife beaters mixing it up with tourists in polo shirts and checkered Bermuda shorts.” Was this guy for real?

  “You got a lot to learn, Jackal, if you want to make it in this business. No one will be around when they search the place, and with all of us in plain sight having dinner in a very public place, they won’t be able to use any creative policing to arrest us.” Nitro’s mouth twisted into a superior smirk that Chaz wanted to slap off his face. But he did have to admire their plan.

  “You guys have an in with the SQ or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Interesting. Now that he thought about it, the timing of the Snow Queen’s arrival on the scene was too coincidental. Was she working with the Vipers? If she was a cop on the take, he could use the knowledge to control her. Casually, so as not to tip Nitro off, he asked, “Sergeant Alyssa Morgan. That name ring any bells?”

  Nitro’s eyes flicked away before he shook his head. Chaz wasn’t buying it. The Viper knew something. “Come on, man. Tell me. She’s been nosing around the rez.”

  Resting his piercing blue gaze on Chaz, Nitro sneered. “Don’t tell me The Jackal is worried about some tits and ass with a badge.”

  Chaz met Nitro’s sneer with one of his own. “Not worried, just cautious.” Enough about the blonde bitch. “You can have your tour tomorrow. The sooner we settle this, the better for everyone.” They agreed on a time for the following evening, and Nitro left, tearing off in his black Escalade.