by Naomi West
The woman smiled at her. “Here’s your receipt. Have a nice day.”
Sara smiled back. There wasn’t a hint of judgment in the woman’s face. Maybe she was just used to strange money flow patterns in people’s accounts. Maybe she assumed Sara had a rich relative who died. That sounded like a good option. If anyone asked, that’s the lie she’d go with. Poor old Uncle Harris. Died of lung cancer, poor man. He’s in a better place now, and can you believe he left all his nieces and nephews money? What a guy.
“Thanks, Uncle Harris,” she muttered to herself as she backed out of her parking space and drove to work.
Chapter Eight
Saxton watched out the window as the cab drove off. He shook his head. What was he doing? He felt so hung up on this chick and he barely knew her. Was it because she reminded him of his mother? Probably had to be some crap like that. He’d watched his mother struggle so hard for so long and he and Nolan hadn’t made it easy on her. Maybe it was mostly guilt for how he’d been as a teen and for most of his life. Probably killed his own mother with his street crimes.
Well, if he could help keep one kid off the streets, help one mother not have to struggle like his did, it was worth it. He didn’t even see it as paying for sex anymore. And he hadn’t had sex anyway, so how could he? He knew he didn’t have to give her the money. He’d never get back the two grand from the club, and he supposed if he’d pressed, she would have given in and done what he’d paid her for.
But that sweet face, that hot body. What it came down to was, he wanted her to want him. He wanted someone like her to look at him and say, yes, I want you. But she hadn’t. He had to face the fact that she was in a different league. Maybe she was a poor single mom, but she had standards and morals, and he fell outside of them. He wasn’t good enough for someone like her. It was better to let her go. That’s why he didn’t get her number or address. He’d be tempted to use them if he had them. This way, he was unable to chase her down. And that’s how it should be. He had other things to chase, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
He dropped the curtain and returned to the kitchen to refill his mug. He took big gulps of his coffee. He needed energy to think and focus. Last night had been late, and he’d been so frustrated, he’d had to jerk off twice before he could fall asleep. Even now, he had a raging hard on thinking about the feel of her lips and her body under his. He’d have to jerk off in the shower or something.
He shook his head and finished the coffee. Liam. That was his focus today. Today marked exactly six months since the day he was found dead. Too long. This should have been taken care of five and a half months ago. If Liam had any living relatives, they would have rightly had his head by now for not finding the killer.
Saxton went upstairs and took another look at the knife. He’d spent many hours studying it, but he still liked to have a fresh glimpse of it before he went out for the day. There were several pictures on his phone of the knife, but they weren’t the same as seeing it in person and feeling its weight.
In his top drawer, behind his underwear and beside one of his guns, he felt the cold metal and closed his fingers around the hilt. He balanced the knife on his palm. It was heavy for a knife. Not something most people would carry on them. A good throwing knife. A high quality knife. The blade was sterling and sharp on both edges. The hilt was covered in intricate detail, the main feature being the eagle crest.
Many times, he’d tried to find out what that crest was. Nothing. He figured that maybe it was just decoration. Maybe not so much an eagle crest that represented some organization, but just an eagle that some knife designer thought looked better inside of a shield-like shape. He’d tried to find the manufacturer of the knife, too, but the experts he’d shown it to said it was hand made. This was an expensive knife. And something only a collector would have. Certainly something that only someone with fancy knives to spare would carry on them instead of keeping it locked up and on display. Someone like Darien.
Rumor was, Darien used his knives for all sorts of things. Stabbing people, torturing them. He’d heard that he committed rape often and that it was always at knife point. He liked to see blood. He hoped it wasn’t true, but Saxton had even heard that sometimes, Darien liked to screw girls with knives instead of his dick. Sick fuck. Maybe he should kill him just to get him off the streets.
But that would make him no better than Liam’s killer, and Saxton wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t kill someone just because he didn’t like him. Even if he had tried to steal Sara from him. He would have fought him if he hadn’t won. He felt sure of it, the way he couldn’t get Sara off his mind.
Saxton tucked the knife back into its hidden spot. Then he showered and hopped on his bike. He had a pretty good idea of where Darien’s guys hung out and that’s where he was headed. Even if Darien hadn’t owned the knife and wasn’t responsible, maybe he knew something about it if he was such a knife guy.
Saxton sped through the twists and turns of the streets of Chicago, enjoying the scenery and tall buildings of the city. He passed Millennium Park, squinting in the light that reflected off the metal pavilion, and turned into a back alley on the next street. There was one spot back here, the back door of a bar, where guys congregated. Guys who were doing drug business, usually, but they were also known for dealing in weapons. And he thought some of Darien’s guys were involved.
When he turned into the alley, three guys looked up at him. He stopped his bike and shut it off, then strutted over to them like he knew exactly what he was there for. The guys moved into a defensive formation, one at the front and the other two just behind and to each side. They watched him and Saxton nodded.
When he was close enough, he said, “Darien around?”
“Who wants to know?” the guy at the front asked.
“Saxton.” He turned his arm so that his smaller Jagged Souls patch stitched near his shoulder could be seen. Right next to the patch that showed he was the leader.
“Not here.” The guy spit on the ground. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for a specific knife.”
“What makes you think I have something like that?”
Saxton gave him a hard stare. “Because everyone knows this is where you go for weapons. I have a picture of what I’m looking for.” He reached slowing into his front pocket for his phone and brought up the pic. Then he held it out for the man to see.
“You don’t want a knife like that,” the guy said.
“I said I was looking for it, not that I wanted it. What do you know about it?”
“You don’t want to go looking for a knife like that, either. Too much trouble.”
“Why is that?” Saxton asked, putting his phone back. So this guy clearly knew something. “Does Darien have a knife like that?”
The guy huffed. “No.”
“Do you know someone who does?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I need to find the owner of this knife.”
“Why is that?” The guy crossed his arms.
“It’s important. And private.”
“Well, if you want to keep your neck, I suggest you let it go.”
Saxton shook his head. “Afraid I can’t. But if you need some compensation for directing me in the right path—”
“No, no.” The guy held up his hands and backed away. “I told you nothing, I’m not leading you anywhere. You mention my name, I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Even better. Time you left.”
There was no way this guy was giving up any info. Even though it seemed like the knife didn’t belong to Darien, he still thought maybe he would know something. “Just tell me where Darien is.”
“Probably headquarters.” The three men resumed theirs defensive stances and glared at Saxton, clearly waiting for him to leave.
He nodded to them and got back on his bike. Weird how that guy had reacted. Seemed like whoever the knife belonge
d to was no good. Well, no shit. He was a cold-blooded killer. He’d said to let it go or it might bring trouble. That was all Saxton needed to hear to convince him that this eagle crest wasn’t just a decoration. It meant something. He just had to find out what, and then who it was connected to.
Saxton drove toward the headquarters of Darien’s MC. He didn’t think he’d be let inside, but maybe he could get a minute with Darien. He pulled up and the guy watching over the bikes out front grunted at him.
“You ain’t going in there with a patch like that.”
“Don’t need to,” Saxton said. “But I do need to see Darien.”
“What for?”
“That’s between me and him.”
“He expecting you?”
“If he’s smart, he is.”
The guy studied him for a moment, then went to the metal door in the front of the building. What a dump. The Jagged Souls headquarters was nothing like this place. They had a decent building, painted and fixed up nice. Pool tables, TVs, all that crap his guys loved. But this place looked like a hole. Crumbling brick, tiny building, broken windows. Didn’t they put anything into their headquarters at all?
The guy opened the door, but didn’t go in. He hollered to someone inside, then closed the door and watched Saxton. A minute later, Darien strutted out. He walked right up to Saxton.
“You. Hope she was a good fuck, you asshole.”
Saxton pulled his mouth into a half smile. “She’s not why I’m here.”
“This better be good then. You’re not exactly one of my favorite people right now. Never have been.”
“Looking for a knife.” He took out his phone and showed him the pic.
Darien narrowed his eyes. “What is this?”
“It’s a knife.”
“No, fuckhead, why are you asking about it?”
“Looking for the person who owns it. Yours?”
Darien grunted. “You think I run like that?”
“Like what?”
“You don’t have any idea what that knife is, do you?”
Saxton shook his head. “I figured you might know something, being the knife guy you are.”
“I know enough to stay away from anyone with that knife. I’m not getting anywhere near that shit.”
“What is the crest?”
Darien shook his head. “Nope. But good luck finding out.” He laughed. “Hopefully it’ll get you killed and I can take over your MC and your little slut.”
Saxton clenched his jaw. He really wished Darien hadn’t brought Sara into this. His fist ached to be put through Darien’s face. But outside Darien’s headquarters was not the place to throw down. Saxton would have ten guys on him in an instant. He swallowed the words he wanted to spit at him.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’ve been such a help.” He gave him a phony smile.
Darien responded with his middle finger. “Get the hell off my property.”
Saxton threw his leg over his bike’s seat and sped off.
Well, Darien must not be the killer after all. He wouldn’t have responded like that if it had been his knife, Saxton was sure of it. He seemed leery, almost afraid of whatever that knife meant, whoever it represented. And that made Saxton all the more anxious to find out.
He drove around the city for a while, thinking. He knew lots of little corners and alleys where business took place, done by people who might have info. But that kind of thing took care. If the knife lead somewhere dangerous, he couldn’t ask the wrong guys.
He settled on a few spots and drove to the first one. This encounter was much like his first of the day. Wary guys not wanting to talk. This had to be bad, then. He drove to the next spot and, after talking to two guys in a cigar shop, walked back to his bike.
He turned the corner to walk down the alley his bike sat in. From a dark doorway, a man hissed at him, “Hey.”
Saxton turned his head and saw the guy.
He stepped out of the doorway, looking up and down the vacant alley like he was tweaked out and paranoid. He kept twisting his fingers together and switching from foot to foot, shaking each one as he took his weight off it. His head flipped back and forth, watching.
“You been asking bout that knife, right?” The guy’s teeth were yellow and rotted.
“Maybe. You know something about it?”
The guy scratched at his face. “How much?”
“Depends what you know.”
“Hundred and I’ll tell you what the crest is.”
This was the closest Saxton had gotten to any sort of information all day. If he had to pay some crack head a hundred dollars, he’d do it. He pulled out a hundred and held it out.
The guy reached for it, but Saxton flicked it back from his grasp. “After you tell me.”
“It’s a gang symbol, that crest. The Cruel Crows.”
“The Cruel Crows? Who are they? Where are they located?”
The man let out a small squeal, grabbed the hundred dollar bill and took off running.
Saxton spun around to see where the man ran to and when he turned, two men were approaching him. His hands balled into fists. He went to reach for his gun, but before he could close his fingers on it, one of the men held up his gun, pointed at Saxton’s face.
“Freeze.”
Saxton put his hands up and assessed the situation the best he could. These guys didn’t look like bikers. They had no patches and any guy who’d worked hard enough to join an MC didn’t go anywhere without wearing his patches as a symbol of status. These guys wore plain black jackets, black shirts, black pants. Like living shadows, ready to strike their pray.
“I’m going to tell you this once.” The man with the gun stood a few feet from Saxton, the other guy right at his side.
Saxton had no room to run. They blocked most of the alley and if he tried, they only had to step to the side to block his way. His bike was behind them, his gun was at his back, where he’d surely be shot if he reached. The knife at his ankle wouldn’t help him, either. Best to see where this was going and talk his way out of it.
The man with the gun spat his words. “Stop asking about that knife if you want to live.”
Saxton glared back. He wanted so badly to jump these guys for info. But two on one weren’t the best odds. He nodded like he would do what they said.
They stared at each other for several seconds. Then, in an almost imperceptible movement, the man with the gun jerked his head. Saxton barely saw it and only had time to wonder what it meant before the other guy stepped forward and sunk a blade into Saxton’s gut.
The shock was the worst part. He hadn’t seen it coming. He felt the sucking of his skin as the blade was pulled back out. The men turned and ran as Saxton fell to his knees.
He put his hand to the wound and felt the blood pouring from his stomach. His head spun and his vision went black.
Chapter Nine
That afternoon, as Sara was leaving her first job to go home and change for her second job, she decided to call Carter. Even if she didn’t need money from him now, she was pissed that he might be involved with something like that auction, and even more so that he might be the one to be running it and creating such an event. She had also decided that she needed some way to thank Saxton. Even if it was just to bake him a pie or send him a card, she had to do something. And Carter might be the only person she had access to that might know where to find him.
She had called him earlier, on her lunch break, and left a message. He hadn’t called back. She dialed his cell phone again and it went to voicemail again. Where was he? He always picked up, and on the rare occasion he didn’t, he either called back immediately or quickly. Carter was the type of guy who would answer his phone in the middle of a movie theater or while you were mid conversation.
She waited a few minutes, then called him again. No answer. What in the world was going on? She tried his girlfriend next.
“Hey Sara,” she answered.
“Hey Jess. I’m trying to get
ahold of Carter. Do you know where he is?”
She made a huffing noise and said angrily, “No. I’ve been trying to find him all day. No idea where the hell he is. He won’t answer his phone, and he always answers that damn thing, especially if it’s me.”
“Right, I know.”
“Wait, you tried calling him?”
“A few times.”
Jess let out a long sigh. “Even if he was pissed at me, he’d take your call. He better not be sitting in jail somewhere.”
“I hope not. If you see him, ask him to call me?”