She began to cry. Within seconds, she was blubbering. Seeing her in such pain crushed me.
I pulled her to me and held her in my arms. “I’m so sorry.”
After sobbing for some time, she leaned away from me. Then, she wiped her eyes and exhaled. “She didn’t. She didn’t make it. It’s uhhm.” She patted her left leg with her hand and nodded repeatedly. “It’s how I…how I got this. And, it’s why I don’t…celebrate my uhhm. Birthday.”
“I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry, Joey.”
In each other’s arms, we collapsed onto the bed. Silently, we remained still, staring up at the ceiling. During that time, it seemed I let go of what anger and resentment I’d held onto from the loss of a girlfriend and my brother, but I couldn’t be sure.
I turned to the side and tapped her on the shoulder. “You said there were three things. Is there another?”
She looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, there’s one more.”
“Okay. I’ve got one more, too.”
“You first,” she said.
“Ladies first.”
She let out a breath. “Don’t get mad.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I’m not going to get mad.”
“Promise?”
“Why would I get mad?”
“Are you going to promise?”
“Okay. I promise.”
She looked at me and grinned. “Promise what?”
“I promise I won’t get mad.”
“Number three,” she said. “I love you.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. It was exactly what I was going to say. My mouth curled into a smile.
“That was my next one.” The four words that followed flowed from my lips readily. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Forty-One
Joey
He took a bite of his enchilada, swallowed it, and then lowered his fork. His lips parted slightly and I hoped he’d say something. While I sat, suspended in wait, his eyes fell to his plate. Our discussions had been sparse throughout dinner. I could tell something was troubling him, but I got the same response every time I asked.
He’d gone to see his mother in the morning, and although he’d planned on giving a bid on a baseball card later, he never made it back in time to do so.
He poked his fork at his food and then looked up. “What are your thoughts on cops?”
“In general?”
“Sure.”
I considered my response. I had very little respect for police. Most of my contempt came from my mother, who I suspected obtained it from my father.
“I think they’re creepy, especially if they have mustaches.”
He chuckled and then set his fork aside. “Do you trust them?”
“No.”
“Do you hate them?”
“I try not to hate anyone. I hate what they do, sometimes.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Like what?”
“Lying. Doing x, and then claiming they did y. They get by with it nine out of ten times, and it makes me sick. Then, someone comes out with a video and says, ‘hey wait, you actually did this’.”
“So, you think they can’t be trusted?”
“I’d say that’s accurate, why?”
“Just making conversation.”
I was glad we were talking about something, even if it was cops. I offered a cheery smile. “Okay.”
“What about feds?”
“What do you mean?”
“FBI, ATF, DEA. Those guys.”
I’d heard far too many stories about the ATF and their lies from my mother. She told me of their infiltration into what they described as OMGs, or Outlaw Motorcycle Groups. They arrested, killed, and set up more club members than any other government faction.
“If the ATF said the sky was blue, I wouldn’t believe them,” I said.
His eyes slowly widened. “Why?”
“They’ve proven over and over that they’re willing to lie. They murdered hundreds in Waco, Texas when all they had to do was back off and wait. I’ve heard far too many stories. I just don’t trust them, sorry.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Your answers.”
“Why’s that?”
He pushed his plate to the side. “Club business is club business. I won’t discuss club business.”
“I wouldn’t ever expect you to.”
He crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long breath. “I’ve got some business of my own, though.”
“Okay.”
“I need some advice,” he said. “And I don’t have anyone to get it from but you and Smoke. I know Smoke’s opinion, and I’m thinking I might want yours.”
“Well, when you’re ready, let me know. I’ll give it.”
I acted interested in my enchiladas, even though I wasn’t. I’d lost my appetite, but didn’t really want to get up from the table. I wanted him to continue with our discussion, but doubted he would.
“I’ve got a guy in a box up by mom’s place.”
I looked up. “Excuse me?”
“One of the big metal things that they keep construction materials in.”
I blinked a few times. “You’ve got a guy in one?”
“Yep. Remember when I told you that I do bad things but--”
“But you have great intentions?” I said.
He nodded. “This is one of those times.”
I took a drink of water and then shook my head. “I just want to make sure I heard you right. You have a guy in a metal box up by your mother’s house? Did I hear you right?”
“Yep. Between Fallbrook and Highway 15.”
“Okay. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess this guy’s a cop.”
He pulled a dollar bill from his pocket, folded it, and began to pick his teeth. “Yep.”
“A fed?”
“Yep.”
“Is he alive?”
He nodded. “For now.”
“Why?”
He stopped picking his teeth. “Why what?”
“Why’s he alive?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you have him in a metal container, and he’s alive, there’s a reason for it. You would have killed him yesterday or the day before or whatever. But, if you’ve kept him alive for a few days, there’s a reason.”
“Few months.”
“Wait. What? A few months?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve had this guy in a metal box in the desert for a few months?”
“That’s what Smokey said. I give the fucker food and water. I’m not a damned fool.”
“I know you’re not. But having a federal agent in a metal box for a few months, regardless of where you’re keeping him, isn’t a great idea. It’s a tremendous risk. It’s quiet out there at night. There’s the noise, the smell, you’ve got to be coming and going, what, daily?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And, you’re not worried about getting caught?”
“Not really.”
I knew being with a 1%er would eventually expose me to some craziness, but I had no idea a federal agent in a box in the desert would be the first thing I would be forced to deal with. Nonetheless, I was committed to the cause.
“Okay.” I shook my head. “So, what’s your question?”
“What should I do with him?”
It wasn’t an easy question to answer. I picked at my cold food for a moment and thought of what our options might be. I had no idea what brought about the series of events that led up to him being in the box. Knowing that would be crucial to developing an accurate response.
“What event or events brought him to you?”
“Club business, can’t say.”
“But you having him isn’t club business?”
“Club don’t know about it.”
“They have no idea?”
“None.”
“Nobody. Just Smoke, but that was off the record. He knows as a friend, not as a brother. Brother half of him is dumb to the fact.”
“Okay. So, the federal agent did something to the club or one of its members. In an effort to protect your brothers, you kidnapped him, and kept it to yourself. Probably because you didn’t want to ask permission – or you didn’t want to be denied permission. Now, you’ve got him in a box in the desert. Oh, and you can’t decide what to do with him. Is that close?”
“You’re pretty damned good, except for the desert part. He’s by the desert, not in it.”
I grinned. It wasn’t planned, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. I was in love with a modern-day version of my father. Percy was doing whatever he must to protect his brethren, and he wanted no recognition for doing so.
“We have two options. Kill him, or let him go. That’s it.”
“Kind of what I figured. I can’t keep him forever.”
“Yeah. He’s not a kitten.”
“Smoke said the same thing. Except he said puppy.”
“Does Smokey want to kill him?”
He seemed to consider my question for a while before responding. He shoved the dollar bill into his pocket and met my gaze. “Yep.”
“And, you don’t.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. If you agreed with Smokey, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I want to talk to him.”
His nose wrinkled. “Smokey?”
“No. The guy in the box.”
“No can do.”
“Why?”
“You’d be an accomplice or whatever.”
I rolled my eyes. “I already am.”
His eyes fell to the table. Slowly, his eyebrows raised. “Good point.”
“So, can I talk to him?”
“What good’s that going to do?”
“Do you trust me?” I asked.
“Sure as fuck do.”
“Then I need to talk to him before I give an answer.”
“Let’s get this shit washed, then. If we haul ass, we can get there before dark.”
Talking to an ATF agent who was being held captive and was undoubtedly angry, dehydrated, and close to death wasn’t how I planned on spending my evening.
Being the Ol’ Lady of a 1%er was going to be interesting, that was for sure.
Chapter Forty-Two
P-Nut
The storage container was amongst a few dozen others that were stored behind a construction company that a Hells Angel owned.
I unlocked the padlock and paused before I let it fall open. “You sure you want to do this?”
“We’re in this together,” she said. “If you want an answer, I need to talk to him.”
I liked her response. She was in it for the long haul, there was no doubt. To think I had a woman helping me with the decision on what to do with an ATF agent who had the potential to threaten the livelihood of the club spoke volumes of my respect for Joey.
It was a new territory for me, but it felt right.
I pulled the door open.
She peered inside. “It smells better than I expected,” she whispered.
“I wipe the fucker off with Baby Wipes pretty much every day, and he takes baths with that antibacterial pump soap. I might not be a pro, but I damned sure ain’t a novice.”
Agent fucktard was sitting in his chair at the end of the container. With his long growth of beard and unwashed hair, he had somewhat of a mountain man look going on. My guess was that we had 30-45 minutes before sundown, and I hoped whatever Joey had to do could be resolved before then.
“That’s him. He looks like shit but don’t let that fool you.”
“Are we going in together?”
I gave a nod. “Follow me.”
I stepped into the container, and she followed right behind me. Halfway to where he sat, I gave fair warning. “One fucking word without being asked a question, and I’ll shove a zucchini squash up your ass.”
He nodded.
He’d been exposed to me and my ways for long enough that he knew better than to fuck with me. When we got close enough that he could see clearly, he exchanged glances between us.
Eventually, he fixed his eyes on her.
“Quit looking at her, you fucking turd. I’ll spoon your fucking eyes out and feed ‘em to the vultures.”
He looked away.
“He doesn’t tip the chair over?” she asked.
“Welded to the floor.”
“And the sports cup with the four-foot long straw. Did you fashion that?”
I grinned. “Made it myself. It keeps him from banging around. If he tips it over, he can’t get a drink until I get back, so he knows better than to thrash around in here. I just set it on the floor at his feet and he leans over when he wants a drink.”
She looked at the restraints on his wrists and then on his feet. “Pro job on the restraints.”
“Thanks.”
She grabbed the folding chair that was leaning against the wall, unfolded it, and sat down. “How many years were you in the ATF?”
He swallowed, and then answered. “Two, with training.”
“How many as an active field agent?”
“Seven months.”
“Have any regrets?”
He looked at me.
“Don’t look at me, you piece of shit,” I snarled. “I’ll put Tabasco in the tip of your dick again. Answer her question.”
He looked at her. “I’ve got quite a few.”
“Care to share?” she asked.
“Speak freely?” he asked.
She gave a nod. “Sure.”
“I took this detail, and I wish like hell I wouldn’t have.” He swallowed hard, leaned forward, and wrapped his lips around the straw. After taking a short drink of the water, he continued. “I thought it would be different. Criminals running dope. Trafficking women. Murdering anyone who got in their way. Once I got accepted to prospect, I saw that wasn’t the case.”
“Why didn’t you walk away?”
“Pressure, I suppose. Desire to succeed. Something. Those aren’t excuses, they’re observations.”
“Okay.” She looked him over, and then looked at me. “Did you really put tabasco on his dick?”
“Nope. In it.”
She fixed her eyes on him. He looked to the side and raised his eyebrows.
“Did you poke squash in his butt, too?”
“Cucumbers.”
“Oh wow.”
She cleared her throat. “Okay. Here’s where we are. You’re going to die. Tomorrow. You’ll be tossed off a bridge. It’s going to be ruled a suicide, because you’ve got PTSD. Your wife will get nothing, you’ll be a statistic, and nobody will care. Life will continue, and about the time you start pushing up lilies at the cemetery, your wife will be screwing one of your ATF buddies. He’s probably comforting her now while she gives him a blowie in the park. Now. Convince me in fifty words or less why you shouldn’t die.”
He took a drink and then stared at his feet.
So far, Joey was impressive.
He took another drink, looked at her, and sighed. “On my God, my country, and my Corps, I swear these words. I will testify that I planted Meathead’s pistol, and that I’ve been wandering the desert aimlessly this entire time. I’ll claim PTSD got the best of me. Meathead will go free, and you’ll never see me again.”
She looked at me. “He did it in forty-nine. We need to go outside and talk.”
I looked at him. “One fucking peep, and the tarantulas are coming out. We clear?”
He nodded.
“You’ve got tarantulas?”
“Got ‘em at the pet store in Temecula. Big fuckers.”
She shook her head.
We walked out of the container, and to the side.
“Didn’t you say Crip was a SEAL?”
It seemed an odd question, but I responded nonethele
ss. “Yep.”
“Call him.”
“About what?”
SEALs and Marines are both in the department of the Navy, so Crip should know the answer to the question.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“If a Marine swears on God, Country, and Corps, is it the truth or a lie.”
My eyes shot wide. “That’s what we’re going to go off?”
“I’ll tell you after he responds.”
I pulled out my phone and called Crip. He answered on the third ring.
“Brother Nut. What can I do you for?”
“Quick question, Prez.”
“I’m listening.”
“If a Marine swears on his God, Country and…” I looked at Joey. She mouthed the word Corps. “Corps, is he lying or telling the truth.”
“He swore on all three?”
“Yep.”
“Is he a veteran? A real Marine?”
“Yep.”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“Would you bet your life on it?”
“I have, and I will.”
“What percentage of the time?”
“From a Marine vet? 100%, why?”
“I’m asking the questions, not you,” I said. “That’s all I got. Bye.”
I hung up and turned to Joey. “He says we’re golden.”
“Let him go.”
“Just like that?”
She nodded. “Just like that.”
“You think I should trust him?”
“I think we both need to learn to trust. If this goes the way I think it will, it’ll do us both a lot of good. If it doesn’t, I’ll be your alibi.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll be your alibi. Whatever he says you did, I’ll say he’s a liar, and that you were with me. I’m pretty sure we can get Josh to agree to give the same testimony, considering how afraid of you he is. All we need to do it get rid of this trailer.”
“Container.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“You want to tell him, or you want me to?”
“You can. He’s probably got an attachment to you.”
“Motherfucker better not.”
She laughed. “Come on.”
As the sun began to lower itself behind the distant mountains, we walked around the trailer and stepped inside.
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 96