Hell or High Water (The Four Horsemen MC Book 8)

by Rayne, Sara

  “This is the real deal.” He adjusted his crisp suit jacket. “I have a financial backer for Mt. Olympus, and he’s anxious to move forward.”

  “Try it and I’ll slap you with another injunction. Half mine means you can’t do squat without my permission.” Voo took a healthy swallow of his coffee. “What’s the name of this mysterious benefactor? And while you’re at it, what are his odds at the next derby?”

  “Byron Beauregard.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” The muffled shout came from the kitchen.

  Voo agreed with Coyote’s assessment. The name Beauregard might as well be Southern for gangster, and Byron was the current poisonous thorn in the Horsemen’s collective backside. How had he weaseled his double-crossing fingers into this pie? Was nothing sacred?

  “You runnin’ with the Dixie Mafia now?”

  “I assure you all of my business dealings are above board. Mr. Beauregard told me not to mention his name, but seein’ as how his investment is a matter of public record, I didn’t see the point in keepin’ it a secret. I know how you value honesty, Simon. Or is it Voodoo? What did your friend Boone call you? Rafe Crocker. Must be exhausting keeping all your identities straight.”

  Boone—Voo hadn’t thought about the bastard in years.

  He’d done a lot of shady things in his formative years. Everything from hustling Three Card Monte on Bourbon Street to running full-blown con operations on the gullible nouveau riche. Nearly all of it had been pulled off in the company of his former best friend, Boone Brulé.

  They’d been working a catering con when Voo had met Artie. Money had been tight in the bayou, and his grand-mére’s assurances the loa would provide hadn’t eased his worry. Honest work was hard to come by and didn’t pay as well. He’d never told Artie the truth.

  Even when he’d proposed to her.

  Lying to her had offered him a chance at a fancy life with a respectable job as head chef at Ambrosia, Mt. Olympus’ restaurant. Boone had called him a fool, accused him of turning his back on his roots. Voo had told him to shut his arrogant mouth and go back to his full pantry and roof that didn’t leak. Principles didn’t put food in a man’s belly—dishonesty always did.

  They’d been like brothers once, but jealousy had grown like a bitter seed in Voo’s heart, choking their friendship. Boone’s family bordered on upper middle class, but to someone as dirt-poor as Voo, they might as well have been millionaires.

  Voo stole for necessity—Boone stole to fund his own personal demons.

  “Now I can buy you out, and I’m assumin’ you’re willin’ to let go of what you stole from me?”

  Asshole.

  “I don’t care about the money.” Voo raised a brow, determined to be the bigger dick in his own damn diner. “You will never own Mt. Olympus. And that knowledge is worth more than two million dollars to me.”

  His face flushed with anger. “You’re gonna let the building sit empty? A big, sucking money pit in the middle of Bourbon Street, because of some stupid sentiment over Artemis?”

  The hotel had been more than simply Artie’s inheritance—it had been her dream. Their dream. And he’d turn it over to this waste of oxygen over his cold, dead body.

  “Shut your mouth and get the fuck out of my diner.”

  Apollo stood, clenching his fists.

  The kitchen doors creaked as Coyote pushed through them. He leaned a hip on the counter and gave Apollo a sharp smile. “Some free advice, friend? We take the right to refuse service serious around here. Dead serious, you might say.”

  His gaze flickered between Coyote’s face and his gun. Coyote stared straight back, eyes steady as a rattlesnake’s. His fingers twitched towards the holster, and Apollo stepped back.

  “Fine. I thought things might go this way. I have other means of accomplishing my goals.” He gathered himself up and looked Voo in the eye. “I don’t know why you’re still clingin’ to her memory. She never loved you. How could she? Artie never knew who you were—not even the last name she was supposed to take.”

  “Get. Out.”

  Apollo left, the stench of sleaze ball trailing him. Voo waited until the limo left the parking lot before taking his eyes off the bastard.

  Slipping his phone from his pocket, he texted Lex. She should be grabbing her morning java at the campus coffee cart by now. Apollo touching her picture made his skin crawl. He knew she was alright, but he needed the reassurance of one of her grumpy pre-caffeine “good morning” texts.

  “So his visit was the bad juju?” Coyote stepped up to the counter beside him. “At least it was short.”

  Voo stared at his phone, willing Lex to text him back. The device stayed silent. The hollow feeling grew in his gut as he put on another pot of coffee for the Crows.

  “Perhaps.”

  Or maybe it was only the first crack in the levee.

  Chapter Two

  Lex sat on the stiff, extra-long twin mattress in her dorm room and stared into the dingy mirror above the built-in dresser.

  “I look like shit.” Not like I care.

  Tilting her head to the side, she inspected her newly dyed hair. A Billy Idol shade of platinum obscured every trace of the dark tresses she’d sported a week ago. She was barely recognizable as the same person, which was safer considering her current status as “most hated on campus”. The drastic image change felt painfully righteous—a reminder of how different everything was now. After Grant.

  The past few months had taken their toll. Purple circles lived under her eyes. Her cheeks and stomach had hollowed, jeans slipping down her slimmer hips as if she was twelve again. Captain’s old Harley Davidson T-shirt extended past her elbows, hanging to her knees.

  The alarm on her phone beeped. Class in 15 minutes.

  Her chest tightened. She silenced the damn thing and dropped it into her messenger bag. The phone clanked against the hunk of shiny metal tucked in the bottom. Licking her dry lips, she reached inside.

  Her fingers closed around the Smith & Wesson J-frame revolver. The piece’s cool, heavy metal soothed her. Rose, one of the club’s old ladies, had bought the gun from Inferno Firearms for her. Lex knew Captain would have objected, but Rose had survived sexual assault and understood what Lex needed to feel safe.

  Methodically, Lex loaded the gun with the .38 special ammo, exactly as Rose had taught her. Sighting down the barrel, she aimed at the center of her forehead in the mirror and touched the trigger.

  Her heartbeat slowed. She took a half-breath and held it.

  “Bang.”

  Lex lowered the gun and checked the time. Clicking the safety in place, she zipped the loaded weapon into her messenger bag. It had taken a few tries, but she’d worked out a routine of running to class at the last possible minute. It avoided unwanted social interaction before the professor arrived.

  Please. Leave me alone today.

  Carrying a loaded gun on campus broke a dozen school conduct rules and also happened to be a federal crime, but she hadn’t been able to make herself leave the safety of her locked room without it since Rose gave it to her. She grabbed a black hoodie from the laundry pile and slung the bag over her shoulder. Gripping the door handle, she pulled in breaths through her nose as she counted to ten.

  “Go.”

  Lex slammed the door as she left so it would lock tight behind her and took off at a run. The day was unseasonably cold, but her pace kept her warm enough. The enticing aroma of the coffee cart made her mouth water as she jogged past it. But stopping for a coffee would mean talking to the cheerleader baristas.

  Finally reaching the Psych building, she darted past the line for the elevator and shoved through the doors into the stairwell. It was a damn shame about the coffee—a shot of caffeine would have helped on the six-flight trek.

  She caught her breath at the top of the steps before pushing through the doors into the hallway. A sluggish line of students filed into the classroom ahead of her.

  Perfect timing.

  At
least she had something going for her. She hid until the last student walked in then dashed across the hallway and into her Cultural Impact on Family Dynamics class. Hands tingling, she forced her dry throat to swallow and headed blindly down the first row of desks.

  All taken.

  Cheeks heating, she did an about-face and desperately searched for an empty spot.

  In the opposite back corner, football players in team jackets surrounded the one unoccupied desk. Her stomach dropped. Whispers and titters of laughter surrounded her as she crossed the room. The squeak of Dr. Collier’s dry-erase marker on the whiteboard sounded excruciatingly loud.

  “Everyone, take your seats,” the professor instructed, still facing the board.

  Lex hurried to the back desk. The seat was covered in slimy, congealed gum. She swallowed a surge of nausea. The new quarterback, Bryan Dawson, sat directly behind the empty seat. He had been Grant’s best friend.

  Eyeing her boldly, he stuck a fresh stick of wintergreen gum in his mouth. “You gonna sit or what?”

  She turned, scanning the desks again. There had to be another open spot.

  “Ms. Cooper, take your seat.”

  Lex glanced at the front to find Dr. Collier glowering over her round glasses. Today’s topic scrawled across the board behind her.

  Honor Killings and Sexual Assault.

  Her knees wobbled as the blood rushed from her face. A high-pitched whine filled her ears. She couldn’t breathe. The sneers and smirks of her classmates twisted and shifted like funhouse mirror reflections.

  Shaking her head didn’t clear the noise. Her heart thundered, adrenaline pumping through her blood, the bitter taste of copper on her tongue. Her calves tingled with the need to run away. Lex raced out of the room as if hellhounds nipped at her heels. The hallway blurred as she ran into the nearest ladies’ room.

  The ringing in her ears faded to silence when the heavy door slammed shut behind her. She tossed her hood back and lifted the hair from her neck, damp strands clinging to droplets of sweat. The cool air sent a blissful shiver down her spine.

  The room smelled of concrete and mildew. Lex pushed into the last stall and locked it firmly behind her. Holding the deadbolt in place with shaking hands, she pressed her forehead against the cool metal.

  She focused on her happy place—nerding out with Coyote and eating Voo’s cooking. The weekend before finals, she and Coyote watched a Mythbusters explosion marathon at Hades while Voo made them couche-couche.

  She’d give anything to be back there right now.

  “No. I’m better than this,” she whispered. “Stop it. Stop. They’re not gonna beat me.”

  Stumbling backward, Lex collapsed on the closed toilet lid. She clutched the bag tighter, feeling the outline of the gun and the peace it offered. The panic had started to subside when the ladies’ room door banged open.

  Steel-toed boots echoed on the polished concrete. A smug tenor called, “Le-ex, I know you’re in here.”

  Bryan.

  Lex gripped the zipper on her bag and eased it down.

  “Did you leave because there was something wrong with your chair? I’d have thought a slut like you would be used to sitting in something sticky.” His steps came closer. “No point in hiding. I know where you are.”

  The footsteps stopped in front of the stall door.

  “Gotcha.” A slice of his sneering face appeared at the crack in the doorframe.

  Lex reached into the bag. “Go away, Bryan. This is a women’s restroom.”

  “My bad. I forgot. You like it in cars, right?” He pounded on the door. “Come out or I’ll come in there after you.”

  Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. Bryan rattled the door on its hinges, the harsh sound of banging metal reverberating around the concrete room. Lex gripped the Smith & Wesson’s handle. “Go away now, I’m warning you.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me like you did Grant? Huh, Lex?” He slammed his fists against the door. “We went to the same high school in Odessa. I knew Grant all my life. And you fuckin’ killed him.”

  “It was an accident.” She clicked off the safety, keeping the weapon in her hand concealed in the bag.

  “An accident? Then why’d you lie about him tryin’ to rape you?” He shook his head, his nostrils flaring on his wide face like an enraged bull.

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “Grant was no rapist!” Bryan lowered his voice. “He was my friend.”

  “So what, Bryan? You gonna beat me up in a public bathroom?” Her voice wavered, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

  “Who said anything about beatin’ you?”

  Her icy fingers tingled. If she drew the gun, things would go downhill quickly. He could call for security and identify her as a campus shooter. If she didn’t, he’d come in the stall, and nothing good would follow. Should she pull the gun?

  Don’t aim at anything you don’t intend to kill.

  After all the misery Grant’s death had brought her, could she bring herself to kill another man? Another football player? Even if she could, no way would she survive the incident. They’d form a campus lynching party.

  The sound of voices rose in the hall. The class was over.

  “This isn’t over. I’ll be seeing you—real soon.” Bryan backed away from the door, holding her gaze through the crack. The restroom door slammed open, and a group of girls trooped inside, their conversation halting when they caught sight of Bryan.

  “What are you doing in here?” an amused female voice asked.

  “Nothin’.” Bryan headed away from the stall. “Hey, Lex, thanks for the hand. Hope it was good for you.”

  The women broke into laughter and whispers, but she heard the word “slut” clearly enough. Lex drew her knees against her chest and crouched on the toilet until they went away. When she no longer heard any sounds in the hallway, Lex pulled up her hood and ducked out of the bathroom.

  She could file a report with campus security, but there wouldn’t be much point. They’d say, “We’ll look into it,” then sit on their smug asses and tell her to be patient. But her tormenters were still in class every day, in the hallways, in her dorm. The campus wasn’t safe for her anymore, and as much as she hated being around people, Lex was terrified to be alone.

  “Miss Cooper?”

  She spun around.

  Dr. Collier stood in the hallway, a file in the crook of her elbow and a tight smile on her face.

  “Dr. Collier, I’m sorry for running out earlier….”

  The professor held up a shushing hand. “I need to speak with you a moment. As your advisor, I have some concerns about your academic future here.”

  “Concerns?”

  “We can discuss them in my office.”

  “I have another class….”

  “You missed mine. You can miss the next one, too. This is important. Come with me, please.” Dr. Collier’s smart heels clicked on the polished floors.

  Lex followed stiffly.

  Also the Assistant Dean of the psych program, Dr. Collier had a large corner office with two full windows. She pointed to one of the leather chairs in front of the expansive oak desk.

  Lex sat, tucking her bag beneath her chair.

  “Are you alright, Ms. Cooper? You appeared shaken when you left earlier.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m fine. You have concerns?”

  “Your grades have slipped this semester.” Dr. Collier smoothed the sleek, gray lines of her tight bun.

  “It’s been a very difficult semester for me.”

  “I am aware.” She held Lex’s gaze. “Which is why I think you should take some time off.”

  “Time off? It’s the middle of the semester. Midterms are next week.”

  Dr. Collier pressed her lips together. “I’ve spoken with your other professors, and they report the same pattern of troubling behavior I’ve seen.”

  “What pattern?”

  “Not turning in assignments, comi
ng to class late or not at all, and the quality of your work recently is not a match for our rigorous standards, Ms. Cooper.” Dr. Collier laced her fingers together on the desk. “Dr. Waller said you came to his class smelling like alcohol yesterday.”

  “The girls in my dorm dumped a six-pack of beer in my washer while I was doing laundry.” They’d even thoughtfully dried it for her. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon—and a whole roll of quarters—trying to wash the smell out before surrendering and pitching the entire basket.

  “Did you report this incident to your residence hall manager?”

  “Yeah. He said he’ll look into it.” She couldn’t hold back the eye roll.

  Dr. Collier’s sigh smacked of exasperation. “As administrators, we’re doing what we can to help, Ms. Cooper, but you need to take more ownership of your situation. I realize the campus reaction to your allegations against Grant Stewert has been unfavorable, but we can’t control public censure.”

  “Public censure? Why bother with an anti-bullying policy in the student handbook if you aren’t going to enforce it?”

  “Please remain calm. I assure you, we’re following all the proper procedures to investigate your claims.” Her brows pinched, and Lex didn’t bother hiding her smirk. She’d combined her father’s deviousness with her hard-won knowledge of campus procedure. Her “claims” had likely been keeping the Dean’s office hopping. “However, at the moment, you’re failing classes. You could take incompletes for the semester and salvage your transferable GPA.”

  “Transferable GPA? I wasn’t aware I’d put in a transfer request.”

  “Allow me to be frank, Ms. Cooper. While we are supportive of you as a student, we must balance your wellbeing against the health of our campus community. Surely, it would be better for you to attend another institution. We can try to address your classmates’ behavior toward you, but what happened between you and Mr. Stewert will always be an issue if you choose to remain here.”

  You have to be fuckin’ kidding me.

  Lex’s temper ignited. Years of her father’s snarky complaints about administrators, bureaucrats, and “all those management types” suddenly sounded less like blustering and more like gospel truth.