CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)

by Naomi West

  “Yeah,” he replied, his voice gravelly and low, “but it's my fault I'm still in love with you. I have to keep you safe, babe.”

  “Desmond, I ... I don't know what to say.”

  He stroked her cheek with his fingers, smile down at her. “You don't have to say anything.”

  She felt the heat rising to her cheeks and looked away. She thought she'd felt this way, once, about Wyland. All that had been thrown out on its head, though, when he completely flipped on her. What she felt for Cutter, this affection, this attraction. She knew it was real. He'd never hurt her, or betray her. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. “Which is why-”

  “Wait,” he said, his voice relieved and shocked at the same time. “You do?”

  She looked back up at him, at the little grin on his lips. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her answer. “Which is why I don't want to let you go.”

  “You need to, though,” he said. “Taking responsibility for this, that's what I'm here for. That's part of who I am. I have to go do this. And, if it works, he'll be off our backs forever.”

  She nodded, put a hand on his chest. “I know,” she replied after a while. “I just, I don't have to like it, though. Not one bit.”

  “Well, ain't like I’m exactly jumping over the moon for this shit, neither,” he said, squeezing her in his arms. “But, we'll get through it, okay?”

  Frustrated, she let out a long sigh. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what choice do I have?”

  “Not much more than what I've got,” he conceded. “This is a shit show all around, you know. But, let's go talk to the guys, alright? We'll let Smalls and Squirrel know what's going on, get you situated, then I'll head out. I still got a meeting to catch.”

  Together, they went inside and found the two other free Vanguard members. They were playing pool in the rec room, sucking back a couple beers, and generally trying to keep their cool while their world fell apart around them.

  “Alright, guys,” Cutter announced as he walked in. “Need you to keep an eye on Liona while I head out to a meeting.”

  Both men looked over to him from their game, their pool cues gripped tightly in their hands. They exchanged concerned looks, but Smalls spoke first. “What's the meeting about?” he asked.

  “I'm meeting with Wyland West,” Cutter grumbled. He held up a hand before either man could lodge a protest. “I don't like it any more than you do.”

  He moved them back into the meeting room, a room Liona hadn't been allowed in until now. All of them dropped their cell phones outside, and they closed the door behind them. Secure, and completely safe from eavesdropping, Cutter laid out the plan to the two men and left nothing out.

  “What's gonna happen if this don't work?” Cutter's second-in-command asked after he'd finished speaking. “What if he don't slip up and you can't go to the cops or his bosses on this, or whatever?”

  He shrugged. “Go to the press, then? That doesn't work, guess I'll take the deal.”

  “You can't take the fucking deal!” Smalls, red-faced, roared suddenly as he slammed his fist on the table. “That ain't gonna happen!”

  Liona flinched back, eyes wide at the outburst. She'd never known Smalls to react that way to anything in the short time she'd known him. He'd never struck her as the type to yell and pound things with his fists.

  “What do you want from me?” Cutter shouted back. “You want me to let the Vanguard get torn down to its foundation? With all my brothers beaten and in jail? I can do something about this!”

  “Not this, though!” Smalls shouted back. “You can't fucking rat!”

  “I'll turn informant in a heartbeat if it means you're all safe!” Cutter shouted. “Hell, if it meant saving this club, I'd burn the whole goddamn town down!”

  Smalls backed off a little bit, hands up. Even Liona took a step back. “Alright, dude,” Smalls said. “It's your life, man. You do what you gotta do. You think you can keep the club together with this plan, you do it. Okay?”

  Cutter nodded. “Let's put it to a vote.”

  Squirrel snorted. Up until now, he'd been keeping his mouth conspicuously shut. “There's like, I dunno, three of us, boss. Ain't much of a quarry.”

  “Quorum,” Smalls, Liona, and Cutter all said at once.

  Squirrel blinked in surprise and shook his head. “Quorum. Whatever.”

  Cutter seemed to ignore his objection, though. “Vote. Yay or nay.”

  “Yay,” Smalls said, raising his hand. Cutter nodded, raised his hand. “Yay.”

  Squirrel frowned and shook his head. “Nah, man. I just don't like it. This Wyland guy's just a cop, like the rest of 'em. Don't care if he's a lawyer, or some shit. He's still just a fucking cop to me, and I don't trust him.”

  “Those in favor carry it, anyways,” Cutter said. “Guess I'm gonna go meet this asshole, and put the plan into motion. You two stay and protect her, alright?”

  “Yeah,” Smalls replied. “We got her.”

  Cutter pushed back from the table.

  Liona scrambled after him as he grabbed his vest and left the room. “Cutter, wait a second.”

  “What's up, babe?” he asked as he scooped up his cell phone from the little basket just outside the room and stuffed it away in a pocket.

  “I just, I wanted to tell you to be careful. Okay? And don't trust him.”

  “I know. I will be, and I won't.”

  They embraced again, one last time before he left. He held her against him, his strong arms encircling her like a ring of protection and security. “I love you,” he said, just louder than a whisper.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back. She stood up on tiptoes and kissed him. “I still wish you'd take me with you, though. I don't like this, Cutter.”

  “We went over this,” he said, squeezing her one last time. “I can handle Wyland, okay? I'll be back soon, alright?” Then, he was letting her go and heading out the front door.

  She watched him as he left. She didn't like this, not one bit. Not only did she worry that he'd bitten off more than he could chew, she didn't like this feeling of helplessness. Not after she'd been given a glimpse of what having control of her own life could be like.

  But, maybe that it was her fate to be in one prison or another. Imprisoned by her fear of Wyland, imprisoned by her worrying over Cutter trying to protect her. Every which way she turned, she seemed to see bars in front of her. Some effort by someone to control her. She clutched her hands into fists at her side and shook her head: no, something had to change.

  Chapter 32

  Cutter

  It was a rare occurrence when Cutter didn't enjoy the shortest of bike rides. This was one of those times. He could smell a change in the air, one that he didn't necessarily like. His palms were sweating, his head spinning. He'd spent his entire adult life fighting, sometimes even killing. His world was drenched in blood and violence. He'd done backroom deals, shady back alley trades, dead drop style cash for drugs. Hell, he had even become comfortable with it, years ago. He understood he had blood on his hands, and he even knew where the bodies were buried. He'd put some of them there, after all.

  This was different, somehow. He had to outsmart a man like Wyland. A man who lived by his wits, by his ability to speak and talk circles around the other man. Even with as much reading as Cutter had done over the years, he knew that he was pretty much walking into a gun fight, armed with just a knife. This was a damned fool's errand, a Hail Mary of epic proportion. But, it was the only chance he had.

  He arrived at the park a few minutes early. He stayed on his bike for a moment and looked around, taking in the lay of the land. With school still in session, it was almost deserted. Most of the soccer moms were lined up in front of the elementary school waiting for their ankle biters, or busy at the grocery store picking up provisions for the weekend. A lone figure stood out by the small pond, about a hundred and fifty yards away, feeding ducks.

  The only car here was Wyland's white BMW, parked down at the far end f
rom Cutter's bike. The tinting on the windows was dark, almost black. At a glance, he couldn't even see inside. Wyland could have been sitting in there with a whole squad of cops, or a gun leveled at his head, and he wouldn't know the difference. It was now or never.

  He took out his cell phone, brought up the app that he'd downloaded for recording their conversation. It was simple, just a little record button that would save the recording to a digital file and immediately upload it to a cloud service somewhere off his phone. He was about to put the phone away, but then decided against it. He needed to send a message to Squirrel, to see how things were going with Liona.

  He hated leaving her out of this, but he couldn't risk putting her in harm's way. He knew she didn't like it, that she was agitated with him for agreeing to meet with Wyland. If anything happened to her on his watch, he'd never forgive himself. Cutter sent off the message to Squirrel, glanced around the parking lot one more time, then headed for Wyland's vehicle.

  It was time to have this meeting.

  Chapter 33

  Liona

  Nervous and agitated, Liona paced back and forth in the rec room. This was insane. She couldn't believe she’d let Cutter run off on his own like this. He didn't know what Wyland was capable of. Even though they were friends years ago, he thought Wyland was just some prick in a suit. Cutter thought that, as president of the Vanguard, he was some top dog on the street. But, Wyland was crazy. There was no telling what he'd do.

  She chewed at her thumb, gnawing away at the tip as she tried to think of what she could do. She had an idea, but she didn't know if it would work or not. She remembered seeing some sleeping pills in Cutter's medicine cabinet when she'd been rummaging for some face wash. Maybe, if she could get the guys to have a drink with her, she could slip one of them, or both, a mickey. She looked furtively back over her shoulder at Smalls and Squirrel, who had returned to their seemingly genteel game of pool.

  “Come on, man,” Squirrel said as he chalked the tip of his cue, “you can't make that shot.”

  “Boy,” Smalls said, grunting as he leaned down over the pool table and got a bead on the eight ball with the cue ball, “don't tell me what I can and can't do. This shit's child's play.”

  Squirrel barked out a laugh. “Believe it when I see it.”

  “Hey guys,” Liona said.

  Smalls and Squirrel glanced her way, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, girl?” Smalls asked.

  “I'm gonna head back to Cutter's bunk. Try to read or something, take my mind off things.”

  “Alright,” he said, nodding. “We'll keep an eye out for Cutter. Either of us hear anything, we'll let you know, okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

  She left them in the rec room and went back to Cutter's bunk. She went into his bathroom and to his medicine cabinet. Only, they weren't there. “Shit,” she swore to herself, slamming the medicine cabinet shut. She leaned down and began to dig through the drawers just below the sink. They had to be here somewhere!

  Outside in the rec room, there was a loud yell. “Goddammit, Squirrel!”

  She stopped and cocked her head. It was Smalls, probably yelling about Squirrel snaking the winning shot out from underneath him, or some other crap. Even before the rest of the guys had been locked up, those two had been at each other's throats over little competitive games like cards and pool. As far as Liona could tell, it just seemed to be part of their natures that they were both competitive.

  She went back to digging around in the drawers. Nothing in the first one, just an empty bottle of aftershave an old, half-filled canister of shaving cream. She slid it shut and went onto the second.

  There was a loud thud, then a door slammed. Probably Smalls going off to his room to have a drink in some peace and quiet. She wasn't too worried about it. Just meant she'd only have to drug one of them. And, quite frankly, she didn't mind drugging Squirrel. He was kind of an asshole, if she was being honest.

  At the bottom of the second drawer, she found the half-filled bottle of sleeping pills with Cutter's given name typed out on them. She gave them a shake and closed up the drawer. She didn't know why he had this prescription, but she knew they'd work pretty well for what she wanted. A few years back, she'd had the same thing prescribed to her by her doctor after Wyland had mentioned she seemed to have problems sleeping.

  At the time, she'd wanted to scream at him, “No asshole! I just don't want to sleep next to you!”

  She pocketed the bottle of pills and closed up the medicine cabinet, then headed back out towards the rec room. Squirrel was still in there, picking up pieces of a broken pool cue from the ground.

  “Woah,” Liona asked as she came around to his side of the table. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “Smalls got all pissy when I won,” he said in a frantic and frustrated voice, “and stormed off to his bunk. You know how he gets sometimes, acts like a real goddamn asshole of a sore loser. Big time, you know.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry. But, hey, would you like another beer?” she asked, gesturing to his nearly empty one sitting on the table. “I'm going to grab one, and I hate to drink alone.”

  “Sure,” he said, perking right up as he collected the last of the pool cue and took it over to the table. “That'd be great,” he added over his shoulder.

  She didn't like doing this. The guys here were rough, but who among the Vanguard wasn't? To join an outlaw gang like this, you had to, pretty much by definition, be a social outcast and misfit. It didn't necessarily make someone like Squirrel a bad person, or mean there was anything wrong with him. He was just an odd duck, as her father would say.

  Liona went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge. She twisted off the tops and set them down on the counter, then went and rummaged for a spoon. She pulled the pills out, shook a few into her hand, and stuck the pill bottle back in her pocket. She set the little blue pills on the counter top and, with the back of the spooning bowl, began to crush the pills into a fine powder. She pulled out the bottle and checked the recommended dosage again. Just one pill. Liona screwed up her face and bit the inside of her mouth. Okay, five pills. That should be more than enough to knock him out, and make it last.

  She finished crushing the rest of the pills till she'd hit her quota, then slowly and deliberately brushed the narcotic dust into the mouth of the beer bottle. The powder dissolved easily, and mixed well with the drink. Then she very carefully picked up the laced drink in her left hand, and made sure her intended beer was in her right. Satisfied she knew the difference, she headed back out into the rec room. First, she'd dose Squirrel. Then, when he was groggy enough for her to slip away, she'd go find Cutter and help him figure this out. She just hoped Smalls wouldn't wake up while she was trying to make her getaway. She didn't know if she had enough pills to dose a man his size.

  “You wanna play another game of pool or something?” she asked as she put the beer in her left hand down in front of him. She gave him a big, friendly grin. “Promise I won't break the stick when I lose.”

  He returned her grin so wide she could see those bad and missing molars of his near the back. “Sure thing, little lady. Love to.”

  Chapter 34

  Cutter

  With his cell phone set to record and stashed away in his pocket, Cutter headed to Wyland's white BMW. Gravel and rocks crunched beneath the heels of his biker boots with each step. This was the moment of truth. The moment everything depended on.

  He still hadn't received a text message back from Squirrel, but he could understand that. Squirrel and Smalls were probably throwing darts or playing a hand of cards, and he just hadn't heard. It wasn't a big deal, either. He and Smalls were brothers in the MC, after all, and Cutter trusted both men with his life, and with Liona's. Besides, he couldn't worry about that stuff now. He needed to stay focused, needed to keep his eyes on the prize.

  He realized, as he walked up to Wyland's little sports car, that something was wrong. Now that he could see bett
er through the heavily tinted black windows, he began to see that no one was in it. He stopped next to the car's passenger side door, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. That wasn't right. Where could Wyland be? He frowned and looked around the park, a wave of uneasy confusion washing over him. He looked out to the pond, to the indistinct figure out there feeding the ducks. Could that be him? He frowned and shook his head. He could image Wyland doing a lot of different things, but feeding the ducks wasn't one of them.

  As he stood there, though, he heard something. A faint, distant sound, like the jingling and singing of wind chimes just beyond the edge of his hearing. He stood still, very still, and held his breath. It was coming, he realized, from inside the car. He leaned down to the passenger window and, cupping his hands around his face to block the glare, peered inside. There, resting in the middle of the driver seat, was a cheap burner phone that was lit up, ringing. He didn't see a red light on the dashboard, or anything, to mark the car as having the alarm turned on.