“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm. “But what was I supposed to do? Let her get molested? Or let one of us get shot? Let that bastard walk away with just a slap on the wrist?”
But Jake wasn’t pacified in any way by my words. “For fuck’s sake, Flynn—”
“Enough!” Adrian barks. “Arguing isn’t gonna help any of us.”
We both snap our mouths shut and turn around to look at him. He’s standing over the corpse, looking down, and deep in thought.
“What do we do with the body, guys?” he asks. That is so Adrian—logical and practical to the core.
“What do you mean, ‘what do we do with the body’?” Dahlia replies as she wriggles free of Jo’s embrace. She’s still sobbing and shaking after seeing someone killed in her diner, but I can see she’s trying to pull herself together. She fastens her flannel shirt with the few buttons she has left after the attack, then steps toward us, her eyes shooting flames. I admire her courage, but I’m not crazy about her looking at us as if we were the problem here.
“We call the fucking police and let them handle it,” she announces. “That’s what we do with dead bodies around here.”
“See, Adrian here is right. I’m afraid we can’t do that, darlin’,” Jake says, and follows up by giving her his most dazzling smile. It’s the kind women tend to fall for, but I can tell Dahlia is in no mood for charm. She draws herself up to the full height of her petite stature and stands up to Jake, oblivious to the fact that he’s a six-foot tall guy who’s very bad and dangerous to know.
“And why is that?” she demands, defiantly placing her hands on her hips.
“Thing is, we’re just kinda lying low here for a while. We don’t want any trouble, and we can’t get involved with the cops, you understand?” he says in a low voice.
“Excuse me?” she says, staring incredulously at each of us in turn.
Adrian approaches slowly, like he’s almost afraid she’ll bite him, and stands beside Jake. He’s shorter than Jake, but still intimidating in his own way. Despite his appearance, his intelligence and wit are razor-sharp. He could probably kill someone with his smarts alone, but he’s also the best marksman we have.
“You see, our club is in a somewhat delicate predicament,” Adrian explains in a calm voice. “We can’t let the news spread that we’re here.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Dahlia says, still clearly upset. “There’s a dead body in my diner and I have to call the police, right away.”
I’m astonished at her ballsy attitude and bite back my laughter. I hadn’t counted on her being so feisty, or even someone who’d cuss as bad as she does. What is it with the women in this diner? All my amusement disappears, however, when I see Jake stiffen, all amicability gone from his face in a heartbeat.
“I think you misunderstand me…Dahlia, is it?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are as cold as ice. “That wasn’t a request,” but still she refuses to be intimidated by him.
“We’re not acquainted, so it’s Miss Jones to you, and you can’t order me around in my own diner,” she yells, but Jake doesn’t miss a beat. He takes one single step toward her. That action alone is more threatening than anything.
“Well, Miss Jones. My name’s Jake, so we’re all acquainted now, and in case you didn’t notice, we just saved your sweet peachy ass in your own diner…darlin’.” He bites out the last word, all the honey he’d infused into it when he’d said it before, now gone. She opens her mouth to protest again, but my sexy, raven-haired warrior steps in before she can say anything more.
“Dahlia.” The tone in Jo’s voice is as hard as the steel in Jake’s eyes. She places a hand on her friend’s elbow in a warning touch. “I think we should let it go.”
“Let it go?” Dahlia turns around to stare at her in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind, Jo? There’s a dead body on the floor of my diner. How the fuck can I let that go?”
Jo has been surprisingly calm since I shot the guy, but maybe it’s delayed shock? She takes a deep breath, and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to rein in her emotions to support her hysterical friend.
“It’s because there’s this particular dead body in your diner that I think you should let it go,” she says.
“He tried to…” Dahlia shudders as her voice trails off. “This is murder, for Christ’s sake! We have to call the police.”
Jo sighs impatiently then walks over to the dead man and crouches down next to him. She rolls up his sleeve all the way, exposing the vivid tattoo.
“See this?” she asks her friend. “This guy belongs to a gang, and these guys just killed him,” she says, jerking her head toward us. The disgust on her face cuts me surprisingly deep. “Do you want a gang war in your diner? Let these ‘gentlemen’ clean up this mess. This is not a matter for the police.”
“Shit,” Dahlia and Adrian say, almost in unison as they turn and look at each other, a glance lingering a little longer than necessary. He shrugs in response to her quizzical look.
“We are not exactly eager to get involved in a gang war, either,” Adrian says. I sense Jake’s fiery glare on me again, but I don’t have the balls to turn around and look him in the eye. “Why don’t you two ladies go grab a cup of coffee and a cigarette while we take care of things here?”
“I don’t smoke for one, and oh my god, I can’t believe this has happened. Why here, in my place?” Dahlia says, sobbing. “Okay, I don’t want any gang trouble. This diner is all I have. I won’t call the police, but you’d better do what you have to do quickly. I’ll have customers arriving when I open in forty minutes.”
* * *
It doesn’t take us long to take care of it. After all, it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve done it. Thirty minutes later, the Full Moon Diner is ready to open for business and the body is…well, let’s just say our brother, Mighty, came by and loaded it into the back of a van he’d borrowed and taken it…who knows where. I, for one, don’t want to know. The less people know about the final destination of our dearly-departed douchebag, the better.
“All done, sweet pea,” Adrian announces, cleaning his hands with a rag that had once been white.
Dahlia has calmed down a little, but she isn’t impressed, and her green eyes shoot death rays at him. “Don’t you dare call me sweet pea,” she says, icily. Adrian flinches, putting his hands up in surrender, and I grin. To me, the sexual tension between these two is palpable, but I wonder if either of them feel it.
Speaking of sexual tension…
Jo’s standing by the counter, fierce and unmoving—like a statue. Her eyes are as cold as marble as she stares at us with disdain and wariness. I hate to see that on her face. The fact that she so obviously despises us is getting to me, but I have no idea why. It’s not the first time anyone’s looked down their noses at us, or even been downright hostile—it comes with the territory.
It’s never bothered me before. I like having distance between myself and ‘normal’ people. After all the years I spent feeling powerless, it’s a liberating sensation, but I don’t like it coming from her. I want to be closer to her, not further apart.
I clear my throat, hating myself for adopting such an insecure demeanor around my club members. “I think we should go.”
“Excellent idea.” Jake, who’s been sitting on one of the bar stools by the counter, stands up immediately, making it all too clear he can’t wait to get out of here.
“Yes, it is,” Jo says, her voice matching her eyes—cold and detached. She takes a few steps until she’s right in front of us and crosses her arms over her chest in a resolute gesture. “And never come back.”
I stare at her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says, totally unfazed. “After what just happened, you’re not welcome here.”
“But…I saved your life.” I say, indignantly—and inside, I’m hurt.
“You just killed a man,” she says with venom. “We want nothing
to do with you. Right, Dahlia?” Her eyes flicker briefly over to her friend.
“Right,” Dahlia agrees, emphatically, but doesn’t sound so convincing. I catch her gaze landing briefly on Adrian, who seems equally upset at the prospect of their paths never crossing again.
“You’re throwing us out?” I ask. “Just like that?”
“Flynn.” Jake’s voice cuts like a knife through the tension in the room and he steps up next to me. “Let’s go. Now.”
I turn to look at him. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, which isn’t unusual, but it never ceases to unnerve me. I nod my agreement. I don’t want to risk enraging him further by disobeying a direct order. I’d taken my club cut off to help Adrian with the clean-up, and I stare defiantly at Jo as I put it back on, silently daring her to insult me again. I don’t know whether she’s picked up on my implied message or simply doesn’t have anything else to say, but she just watches me in silence.
“Well, then,” I say as the three of us head for the door. “I guess I won’t see you around.”
Jo stands up straighter, her arms still crossed, granite-like, over her chest, and simply gives me a curt nod.
She doesn’t say anything—she doesn’t have to.
Chapter Four
Jo
To say I was upset would be the understatement of the millennium. I try to remember a time when I’ve felt as furious, or as terrified, but I can’t come up with any examples. For someone who grew up in the system, that’s saying a lot.
The more I try to wrap my head around what had happened, the less I manage to. I’ve seen dead bodies before, but never from a bullet—and never bleeding bodies. It wasn’t because that Flynn guy had killed the man that unsettled me. After all, the douchebag had tried to rape Dahlia, so I have no sympathy for him at all. What’s really getting to me is the instinctive, unthinking way he did it. Like it was an ordinary, everyday thing for him to do. I mean, I knew from the get-go he was no Prince Charming, but I never imagined he might be capable of such levels of blackness and violence.
I’m uncomfortably aware of the fact that I hadn’t gone easy on Dahlia’s attacker either. I close my eyes, concentrating on the memory of it, and I can still feel the rupturing of cartilage under my knuckles. But there’s a huge difference between breaking someone’s nose and ending their life. Mine had been a fight-or-flight response—Flynn’s had been something else. Something I can’t even give a name to. He could’ve just winged the guy, but instead he chose to kill him, and he made that choice in a heartbeat.
The whole thing makes me feel uneasy, and I’m done with that kind of feeling. I promised myself a long time ago, I’d never again be put in a situation in which I felt threatened or one that left me powerless, with no say in my own life. I vowed never to be at the mercy of anyone.
That was the reason I’d taken up Krav Maga in the first place. It wasn’t so much a matter of self-defense—it was a matter of being in control. That’s why I pushed Flynn and his club away from Dahlia’s diner tonight. Yet, for all my determination, I have this sinking feeling that it won’t be the last time our paths will cross.
* * *
It’s a few days after the shooting that I find out just how right I was. The day is hot and sticky, which only increases the mugginess of my own thoughts as they stubbornly cling to my brain like the damp T-shirt that sticks to my back.
I don’t normally work nights, but in the aftermath of what went down, I can’t sit still. Besides, I don’t feel comfortable leaving Dahlia alone at the diner just yet. When Steve found out she was attacked, he felt the same way and now works both the morning and evening shifts. We’re both on edge, and it seems we’re in some sort of unspoken competition to see which one of us can get to work the earliest.
Today, my afternoon classes got canceled due to our professor calling in sick and I’ve taken the opportunity to arrive at the diner extra early. It’s not open for business yet, and it’s completely quiet when I let myself in through the back door. There’s no sign of Dahlia, and it strikes me as odd that she hasn’t arrived already. I spot some papers scattered on the counter, along with the notebook she uses to keep the accounts the old- fashioned way, and my heart skips a beat. Where is she?
Then I hear strange noises coming from somewhere, and it stops me in my tracks. I tense all over, listening intently, then hear a long, drawn-out moan and my racing heart jumps into my throat. I don’t even want to think about Dahlia being attacked again, and I simply can’t face another scenario like the one we had the other day.
It takes me a few moments to get moving and inwardly, I curse myself for my delayed reaction. What happened to the first attacker has stayed with me in deeper ways than I first thought, and for a few precious moments, I’m petrified. It takes a conscious effort to investigate further. Is Dahlia in danger for the second time in the span of a few days? The possibility of that thought makes me so furious, so I push any fear I have to the back of my mind.
When I hear the moan again, I rush to the kitchen, grab one of Steve’s knives, and head cautiously to the storage room in the back. The thought of Dahlia lying horribly injured runs through my head and I’m on edge. For what feels like the hundredth time over the past few days, I curse Flynn and his trigger-happy persona.
I hear what sounds like breaking glass as I push the swing door open. What I see has me frozen where I stand, but it isn’t fear keeping me rooted to the spot—it’s shock. Pure, unadulterated shock.
Dahlia isn’t injured—she’s not even being threatened. In fact, she seems to be having the time of her life, half-sitting on, half-standing against the large table where we sort the incoming stock. Her shirt is open, exposing her naked breasts, and I idly wonder when it was she stopped wearing a bra. She’s lost her jeans and I spot them lying forgotten on the floor, a short distance from her feet. I can’t see the guy’s face, but the large tattoo on his naked back matches the patch on the back of Flynn’s club cut. A malicious skull stares back at me from the man’s bare skin.
He thrusts into her and Dahlia lets out that same long, guttural moan that alarmed me the first time I heard it a few minutes before. Now, it just infuriates me.
“What the fuck is this?”
The angry voice roaring the question isn’t mine, and before I have a chance to do or say anything, Steve barges in, almost knocking me over in his eagerness to get into the room.
Steve stands there with a gun in his hand, his massive body taut with all-too visible rage. He’s practically breathing fire. “Get away from her. Now!”
The guy slides himself out of Dahlia and turns around slowly with his hard cock bobbing up and down in front of us, glistening from Dahlia’s juices. I avert my eyes immediately and breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it isn’t Flynn, it’s that Adrian guy.
I’d been so wrapped up in my fear for Dahlia’s safety, I hadn’t noticed anything about him before except the motorcycle club tattoo on his back. I hadn’t stopped to consider that his hair was the wrong length and color, nor the fact that his slender build was nothing like Flynn’s lithe, muscly body.
Dahlia squeals and does her best to cover herself with a plastic food sack lying on the counter, but it’s barely big enough to hide her modesty. Her face is bright red, no doubt from the embarrassment of being caught in the act by her employees, and the fact that Adrian has been fucking her into next week for God knows how long.
“Do you mind if I finish, first?” Adrian asks, smiling. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried about the fact that the eye of his cock is pointing straight up at me, and I turn my head again. It’s kind of unnerving the way he can be so calm in this situation. I can’t decide what I dislike most—Adrian’s cool demeanor, or Flynn’s explosive fire.
I distrust them both equally, although to be fair, Adrian hasn’t gotten anyone killed in front of me...yet.
Dahlia lets out another little shriek, and I feel like slapping the shit out of her. How could she do this after what happ
ened? How could she be so stupid? She hastily pulls her shirt closed and furiously buttons it up. She skips a few buttons here and there, then grabs her jeans from the floor and steps into them, wiggling her ass to shimmy them over her hips.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?” she demands, all flustered as she pulls her long dreadlocks back into the familiar bun with sharp, hasty movements. I don’t want to think about why she decided to let her hair down. Maybe he liked it that way? “You’re both way too early!”
“Excuse me?” Dahlia’s outburst at me and Steve jolts me out of my speechless state. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“I shouldn’t have to say anything for myself.” Her green eyes glint defiantly, and her cheeks redden again, but I can’t say whether it’s from embarrassment or anger—probably a mixture of both. “And what are you both doing barging in here with weapons in your hands? It’s like the fucking Wild West around here lately.”
I lower the knife, feeling a little guilty, even though I really have no reason to be. Beside me, Steve doesn’t budge, keeping his gun fixed on Adrian.
“I said, get away from her,” Steve snarls. Adrian holds up both hands in a placating gesture, but still doesn’t look nearly as worried as someone who’s naked and has a gun pointed at them should be.
“Take it easy, big guy. Me and Dahlia here, we were just having a little fun,” he says, slapping Dahlia on her curvy ass. “But I’m going, okay?”
Gingerly, he retrieves his T-shirt from the floor and puts it on, his amber eyes never leaving the weapon trained on him. He pulls on his jeans, slips into his boots, then bends down to pick up his leather vest, but Steve takes a step forward.
Bad Breed (MC Romance) Page 3