Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5)

by C. D. Breadner

  Knuckles nodded, hooking his sunglasses in the neck of his shirt. Without thinking about it, he rubbed his hands on the legs of his jeans. His palms were fucking sweating.

  Jayce caught the motion, got to his feet and clapped Knuckles’ shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine. He seems...okay.”

  With a frown, Knuckles shook his head. “How the fuck is he okay? I capped his wife.”

  With a slight shush Jayce turned him towards the bathrooms, and there the man was. Anthony Guidinger, in all his greasy glory, looking like he’d maybe missed a tanning appointment or two but otherwise appearing to be here on business as usual. He didn’t show his ultra-white teeth in a huge grin, though.

  Knuckles swallowed hard, ashamed at the relief he felt when Tank stepped up to his right side. Jayce was to his left. The top officers of the club flanked him, showing their solidarity. The symbolism didn’t seem to escape Guidinger, either.

  “At ease, men,” he muttered as his own dark-haired thugs took the same position at his side. “Not here to start a war.”

  “There was a bit of a hiccup on Knuckles’ last mission,” Jayce pointed out. “You understand our caution.”

  Guidinger nodded, moving to sit on an old beat to shit sofa, right in the center. He even tugged up on the knees of his dress slacks as he sat down. “Yeah, I get that. I had suspected something was going on, but...” he shrugged. “The greater good was the hit. And that part was done perfectly. And I even had an alibi for the murder of that adulterous bitch.”

  Knuckles pushed out a breath in relief. Guidinger caught it and smiled.

  “Relax, kid. Turns out you did me a favor.”

  Okay, well that was cold, but Knuckles would take it for what it was worth. He’d still watch out for that fucker and not trust him any more than he already did, but for the time being at least no one was looking to put his feet in fast-setting concrete.

  “Here’s the thing. The guy she was banging was skimming from the boss. That’s why he had to go. That part isn’t well known. But what is known is that he was a supplier to Sachetti. And the Don has plenty of enemies for them to start looking at.” He shrugged. “The cops don’t have a motive. Nothing was stolen. Clearly, it was personal.”

  “So, we’re okay then?” Jayce asked, clearly still wanting a definite clarification.

  “Yeah, we’re okay. Knuckles gets his payment.” With a flick of the wrist he indicated one of his goons. “David, the envelope. We even brought it by in person this time.”

  One beefy hand disappeared in the suit, and the shorter one with icy blue eyes produced a white envelope which he held out.

  Knuckles approached, took it carefully with no sudden movements. It felt thick enough, he didn’t bother cracking it open for a peek. He folded it in half and stuffed it in his back pocket.

  “All right then,” Guidinger declared jovially, swinging his weight up to his feet. “That concludes business. I wanted to come and assure you gentlemen that there are no hard feelings. I was…tied up for the last week, understandably. Otherwise I could have reached out sooner. But I know nothing could be done to avoid these tragic circumstances. You boys have nothing to worry about from me.”

  “Can I ask one question?” Knuckles surprised himself by asking. Jayce shot him a look but he was already off and running.

  “Like what?” Guidinger asked.

  “Kids in Markham have Sunshine. Any idea who they’re getting it from?”

  “Sunshine is the problem of the Mazaris. You know this,” Guidinger said dismissively. “They’re in bed with the Rats.”

  Mad Dog nodded as he cut in. “And that’s not a benefit to you in any way?”

  Jayce shifted on his feet slightly, but it was his father that had Guidinger’s undivided attention. Even Knuckles could feel the waves of “what the fuck” rolling off his Prez but Jayce wouldn’t interfere, either.

  “Why would this help us?”

  “Trust,” Mad Dog grunted, checking the end of his cigar, and returning it to the corner of his mouth. “In Markham, our supply hasn’t suffered any slowdown. Our supply isn’t compromised. If Sachetti has any narcotics in the mix, it’d be beneficial to him if the competition’s goods were causing problems for their customers. Problems like, I don’t know, dead kids.”

  “I suppose so.” Guidinger clearly wasn’t sure what to make of Mad Dog, and Knuckles had to admit it was entertaining to watch him squirm. “What are you driving at?”

  “Thinking out loud,” Mad Dog said with a smile. “That’s all.’

  Guidinger narrowed one eye, but still smiled and nodded. “If it’s anything you want to bring me in on, just say the word.”

  “Will do,” Mad Dog promised, sounding for all the world like a successful business man. He could clearly give a shit he’d just trod noisily all over his son’s toes.

  Without any further bullshit, Guidinger left, along with his moose crew. Once the door closed, Knuckles collapsed into an arm chair as father and son faced off. Or, more accurately, Jayce got in his dad’s face and snarled, “What the fuck?”

  “I don’t trust that asshole,” was Mad Dog’s reply.

  “Thank you,” Fritter muttered, flopping onto the leather couch across from Knuckles.

  “So what? What was that even about?”

  “I don’t really know. But, if you’re operating under the assumption that Guidinger is on the take and looking to unseat Sachetti, he could do himself a lot of good by fucking with Sachetti’s supply. People start dying, getting sick…”

  “He starts losing business.” Tank finished for Mad Dog, leaning thoughtfully against the pool table. “How much drug business does Sachetti do, anyway?”

  “Plenty,” Spaz was quick to pipe up. “He runs cocaine, pot, and heroin pretty much for the entire central and northern coast of California. Plus, the guns. He’s a pretty big player. Somehow he’s managed to avoid the cartels.”

  “How’s he doing that?” Knuckles mused, running his hand along his beard. Corny, but that’s what helped him think sometimes.

  “His shit is from Asia. Triad ties, big time. But their support is kind of spread out here. Not a lot of back up at hand. Sachetti’s security and protection is amazing. He’s a force to be reckoned with, even in name only. We know that.”

  “It’s certainly helped out on our runs,” Tank pointed out.

  “There was that cartel guy that got capped a while back. The delivery we were supposed to make, but it got jacked. What was that all about?” Buck asked, sinking onto a bar stool. “If he has no cartel ties, why does he insert himself in their shit?”

  Knuckles turn to answer. “That’s Guidinger. I’d bet all three nuts on it. He’s working against Sachetti for the cartels.” He’d forgotten about that poor schmuck that got capped.

  “We still have the Thebaine we jacked,” Jayce reminded everyone quietly, hopping up to sit on the pool table edge, feet swinging.

  “What Thebaine?” his dad asked, still chewing that cigar.

  “While back we interrupted a hand off, mules bringing it over the border from Mexico. We just held onto it.” Jayce’s jaw was working hard, thinking through the explanation. “Had it hidden at Mickey’s garage. It’s looking more and more like someone knew it was there. That’s what they were looking for.”

  “Well shit.”

  Knuckles had to nod along with Mad Dog’s assessment of their predicament.

  “Sachetti hasn’t asked about it,” Tank pointed out.

  Jayce made eye contact with his dad. “Might not know we have it. What are you thinking?”

  “Would Guidinger take it and not tell anyone?” Mad Dog expelled a puff of smoke. “If Guidinger is poisoning the Sachetti drug line, maybe it’s a way to undermine the Don. Especially if Sachetti thinks he’s invincible. And to my mind, Sachetti’s more synonymous with guns than dope. Maybe that’s his main focus.”

  “Yeah,” Jayce nodded along. “Easier to fuck with the drugs, what with the Triad non-existent out
here. Way easier than the guns.” Now Tank was nodding along with Jayce.

  “Yeah,” the big guy agreed. “Guns are from Russia. Oxy and Sunshine could come from anywhere.”

  “Not anywhere,” Mad Dog corrected, holding up a finger “Canada.”

  “Who else is in the drug business then?” Jayce scratched as his beard, and Knuckles did the same. A sympathy itch, maybe. “Mazaris and Dirty Rats are too small time and unstable to be at the top of all this.”

  “Cartels,” Knuckles supplied, with a lot of fucking reluctance. “So…that’s gotta be who Guidinger is working for.”

  Jayce was already nodding but he had to add an emphatic, “Shit.”

  “Tough to prove. Sachetti knows who we are. But he’s never really talked to us. Our word against the guy a made man trusts enough to put in charge of us?” Fritter shook his head. “Fuck We’re so screwed.”

  “No, we’re not,” Mad Dog growled, stepping into the center of their impromptu round table. “If that little prick is trying to take out a made man, he’s got other people helping him. But cowards all have one thing in common: no loyalty. Bring one down, they’ll all sing. And we’re heroes.”

  Jayce gave a laugh. “Great. So, we only have to expose Guidinger without him getting wise somehow.”

  “The Thebaine,” Knuckles breathed, the opportunity like a jolt of light in his brain. “Build a case against that asshole just like a fucking cop would.”

  “That’s pretty hard core, isn’t it?” Jayce didn’t sound scared, not really. Just careful.

  Mad Dog pointed at Fritter. “The kid said it. Your word against a trusted confidante. Without proof, you gotta rely on that guy wondering why these bikers would take issue and bring allegations against his boy. With proof, no problem. Guidinger digs his own grave.”

  Jayce and Tank shared a look before Tank shrugged. “Don’t trust that guy any more than anyone else does. But with all this, we know he’s crooked. So, he’s got Knuckles capping Sachetti’s associates in the meantime, and I’m willing to bet he’ll happily hand that tidbit over if we step out of line. Or to save his own ass, for that matter.”

  “Okay.” Jayce met Knuckles’ eye. “That Thebaine still safe?”

  Knuckles nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Good. In the next day or so let’s get it to the clubhouse. Call Guidinger, set up a hand over. Call it a peace offering, still feeling bad about his wife. Whatever. In the meantime, Spaz, what do you need from us?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Emotional stress and hormonal disappointment had Danielle cleaning the house all day. The girls read her mood perfectly, and Annie and Grace had both pulled everything out of their closets and started sorting clothes and shoes, putting aside anything they didn’t use anymore. Without even being asked.

  Danielle herself cleaned out the kitchen cupboards. Even though they hadn’t moved in all that long ago, she pulled the dishes, cook ware, and foodstuffs out of their hiding places and stacked them on the table and chairs in the kitchen. Then she wiped down the shelving, and even decided a few items really weren’t needed anymore. So, she boxed them up for the Salvation Army as well.

  Danielle carried the box out to the Escape, then decided the fridge could do with a cleaning. As the afternoon went on the girls brought their old clothes out to the living room in clear plastic bags.

  Grace in particular, she noticed, was being extra helpful. She helped Annie get the items down from the top shelf in her closet, then she too carried the extra clothes out to the car.

  “Should we make the donation today?” Danielle asked, tossing the rags she’d used to clean the fridge into the wash.

  “Okay,” Grace answered, not enthusiastically but also sounding like she still expected her mother to shout down the house.

  “Good. Maybe we’ll get Chinese for supper or something.”

  “Yay!” Annie squealing, arms shooting up overhead.

  Grace eyed her warily.

  Danielle smiled and hugged her oldest. “I’m mad. Don’t get me wrong. But I’m also strangely proud of you.”

  “You are?” Grace’s arms circled her reflexively.

  “For defending that girl. That still impresses me.”

  “I can’t even remember why I was so brave,” Grace admitted, leaning into her hold. “Maybe because I had that football player at my back.”

  “You started the whole process. Sometimes, people just need someone to lead them into action.”

  “Okay Mom,” Grace grumbled, pulling away. But she was smiling.

  “All right. Salvation Army, then Chinese.”

  The Sally Ann was in a block of downtown Markham undergoing a bit of gentrification. Next door, for example, was a business that was probably the first in Markham’s history to call itself a bistro. Across the street was a tattoo parlor. Not a seedy, questionable-looking one. The front windows were wide and unblocked, despite the iron bars on the inside. It was downright welcoming, because you could see all the way through to the back of the shop, so you knew there was nothing hinky going on in there. The security bars themselves were painted a bright funky red just so it looked like they were a design choice, not for protection.

  The name, “Ink Junkies,” was cut out of diamond plate metal, mounted far enough out from the façade that, at night, the name appeared to glow in silhouette from red LED backlighting. The back wall was what always caught Danielle’s eye. A huge painted mural, covering the entire wall, depicting all the trappings of the tattoo trade scattered on a table top. It managed to look cool but also…seedy. No, that wasn’t right either. More like ink was an addiction, and this was what it looked like to be a junkie. Hence the name, she supposed.

  Her girls carried their clothes inside the Sally Ann, and Danielle was just about to grab a box of kitchen crap herself when a rumbling sounded down the street, low enough to make you believe it could shake the ground. That noise, of course, brought Knuckles to mind. Her pulse quickened, heat flooded her neck just from the possibility of seeing him somewhere public.

  But it wasn’t Knuckles, she could tell that right away. The bike pulling up across the street carried a rider not quite as tall as Knuckles, wider in the shoulders, with long dark hair spilling out of his helmet nearly to his shoulders. That helmet came off and he shook out that hair, revealing a short beard.

  Well, he certainly was handsome. More so when he smiled, which he was doing right at that moment, because a redhead was sprinting out of the tattoo parlor and flying right at him. He was still astride his rumbling bike, but he caught her in a side hug, arms winding around her back. Then he kissed her.

  Danielle wasn’t a voyeur. Not that she knew, anyway. But those two kissed, right there on the street, like they were moments away from tugging off their clothes and falling into bed.

  The redhead melded into the biker’s frame, face upturned to meet his mouth. But it was the guy Danielle was watching. One hand stayed around his woman, the other was under her hair at the back of her neck, effectively trapping her place.

  Knuckles did that, she realized. He held her tight, moved her to where he wanted her, but she really didn’t really feel trapped. She liked that.

  Shaking her head, she pulled her attention away from the amorous couple and carried the box she held into the Salvation Army.

  All items donated to a good cause, the Prince women climbed back into the SUV. The hot couple were gone by then, and Danielle wondered if Knuckles knew them. He had to know him. The man appeared to be wearing a vest a lot like the one Knuckles wore.

  She remembered Troy telling her about the Red Rebels pairing up and setting down with women. Clearly that didn’t include the couple she’d just seen. No way those two were in a relationship; people didn’t make out all hot and heavy like that if they’d been together for any length of time.

  Grace used her mother’s cell to call in their Chinese order. Before that stop they picked up Slurpees to complete the caloric overdose for the night.

 
With Chinese food on board, they arrived home around 5:30. Early for supper but they’d somewhat skipped lunch after that late pancake breakfast. At their house, however, a visitor waited at the curb.

  A Markham’s sheriff’s department cruiser supported his lean body. Deputy Kerry Troy looked taller than usual. And that was without the hat.

  “What’s this for, Mom?” Grace was back to sounding very young, a sure sign she was still scared to get charged with assault.

  “I don’t know, sweetie. But remember what the deputy told us. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Grace nodded, but as she unbuckled the seat belt her hands were shaking.

  “Annie, you and Grace get the food, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Danielle took her Slurpee from its cup holder, gave Grace the keys, and waited until they got their food inside. Then she approached the deputy.

  He did that forehead touch, like tipping the hat he wasn’t wearing. She had to smile. “Deputy.”

  “You can call me Kerry,” he informed her with a small smile of his own. “You’re in the inner circle.”

  She gave a laugh. “If I call you anything it’ll be Troy. It’s too confusing to remember Kerry. You have two first names.”

  He chuckled. “Been called Troy most of my adult life. I answer to both.”

  “What can I do for you, Deputy?”

  He smiled wider, but he took her point and got to business. “Blood work came back on the girl. She was taking a prescription for a digestive issue. The Oxy messed with it. Her medication was known to cause irregular heart rhythms.”

  “Shit,” she breathed, her thoughts going back to that sixteen-year-old on the cold metal table, just the night before. With the sparkly blue nail polish. “Ah, hell. That’s fucking terrible. I mean, she’s dead either way but…”

  “We had to let the kid go.”

  “What?”