Enforcer: (Boneyard Brotherhood MC Romance Book 2)

by Amber Burns

  “I take it that me getting involved is the reason?”

  “His nephew is out on parole,” Wilson nodded as he sucked on the cigar. “I need him to know without a doubt that his ties with the Brotherhood are severed.”

  “So,” I leaned against the wall. “How do you want me to knock the doubt out of him?”

  “Don't break anything,” he said lightly. “Rough him up,” I watched him pull a roll of bills from the desk. He counted out four hundred and offered it to me. “Get his patch. You get his whole cut, and I'll give you another hundred.”

  I folded up the bills and slid them into a pocket. “Tillman going to give me issues with this?”

  “If Ted decides to be dumb and get in the middle of it, you can knock him one, too,” he stood and glared at me. “He knew it was coming the moment Redding and Billings got arrested. He'll just have to suck it up. We've lost enough business for this shit.”

  “We picking business back up?” Because I needed the distraction, I knew I sounded hopeful.

  “Give me a month, and I'll get you to clear out the way,” he assured me. “This is work for now. The kid has an ankle bracelet on. He's stuck at his house.”

  “He live with mama?” I'd still do it, but it would take planning.

  He paused then wrote down the address on a piece of paper, considered something then handed it to me.

  “No, from what I understand he's living with another dumb ass that was picked up for the same charges. How he pays for shit now I don't know, don't care. Just get this done and we'll go from there.”

  I took the paper and eyed it, committing the address to memory. “You want pictures?”

  “Not necessary,” though there was a smirk around the cigar. The old man liked how I worked.

  “I'll get it done tonight and bring you the cut in the morning,” I assured him before chucking the paper with the address in the trash. “We need to get back to work, fucker. I'm bored off my ass,” I complained as I turned to leave.

  “Soon, kid. Soon.”

  3

  I spent the rest of my day watching Billings’ house, I opted to take my truck to offer myself some cover and a little warmth. He was under house arrest for ninety days, if he lasted the first ninety by following the details of his parole the ankle bracelet would come off. As it was right now, all the poor bastard could do was work and go home. I got the sense he didn't have a job because he didn't leave the house once. At first, I wondered if it was paranoia, then I realized he wasn't that bright. He had lackeys out running errands he couldn't. How he got them, I didn't know. He didn't have the charisma that Tillman did or the leadership skills that Wilson did. Maybe they were friends?

  I decided once it was dark and the house looked clear I'd make myself known. I'd seen Billings about the clubhouse a number of times, he knew what I did, and he'd know why I was here. So, I decided to keep things simple. I stood just outside the line of light from the porch. I folded my arms and waited to be noticed.

  It didn't take long. I saw a shift in the curtains from what I assumed was a bedroom. The house was quiet, so I didn't know how many was home aside from Billings. I was pretty sure there were at least two. I watched as the porch light went out and tried not to outright laugh. I'd wait. I didn't want to add breaking and entering to the assault charges that this could saddle me with.

  I heard footsteps behind me and turned just in time to catch the ball bat being swung at me.

  “That how we wanna play?” I asked as the thrill struck me, and I lashed out to catch the guy in the jaw, wrenching the bat from his hands. He stumbled, and I kicked forward to catch him in the gut. “You sneak up on a guy and try to clock him from behind? That's some shit, man.” I gave him another kick, aiming for his ribs when he went down. “I ain't got business with you,” I snarled as I stomped on his middle. “You stay down, and I still won't have business with you.”

  I was about to turn back, but I was plowed into from behind.

  “You gonna die, motherfucker!” He called as the asshole started punching me in my side in quick succession. I didn't realize he was stabbing me until the knife got caught in my cut.

  I saw red before I felt the pain. I reached back to grab two fistfuls of the guy on my back, and with a little effort I jerked him off my back and managed to body slam him onto the cracked sidewalk.

  “How the fuck are you going to stab me?”

  I didn't wait for an answer my boot came down on his head without real thought behind it. Every trickle of pain I started to feel lancing through my side was delivered back to this fucker with my foot, I stomped on him and kicked with a vengeance. I didn't stop until I heard the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked. I turned and saw Billings with his piece aimed at me. I raised my hands.

  “That how this going to go?” I asked, trying not to wince as I held my hands up.

  “I don't know why you're here,” he spat at me. “They fucked me over and got that bitch off! You can fuck off!”

  I took a second to reel myself in, eyeing his gun. There was a slight tremble to it. He was scared, but was he scared enough to pull the trigger?

  “You know why I'm here,” I panted lightly, fire was starting to burn through my side. I was gonna need to make a trip to the hospital after this. “Gimme your cut,” I gave him my full attention, the other bastards weren't getting up. “Know it's done and we can all move on from this.”

  “My cut?” I saw his eyebrows draw upward like he didn't know what he had done wrong. “They're dropping me?”

  “You break the rules you gotta pay,” I answered simply. “Your parole officer know you gotta gun?”

  “Fuck you,” he stepped closer, turning the gun sideways as he tried to look impressive. I knew better, you can't make a good shot holding a gun like that. “I should fucking shoot you now.”

  “Yea,” I held out my arms now that fire in my side just burned harder. “Do it. Go to jail for murder, see if that's more fun than getting locked up for drugs.”

  “What you did is assault!”

  “Self defense,” I dropped my arms. “One guy had a bat the other stabbed me, stomping a mud hole in them was a gut reaction type of thing. I don't expect you to know what that's like Chair force.”

  He growled and lowered the gun, turned and went back into the house. I waited, trying to keep my cool as I hurt. He came out and threw the leather cut into the yard. “Tell Uncle Ted I said thanks for the bullshit,” he spat on it. “And the waste of time.”

  I didn't see the gun, but I didn't wait to see if he would aim it back at me. I launched myself at him, aiming my shoulder for his gut and sent him sprawling onto the concrete porch.

  “Sure thing,” I heaved myself up to my knees. “Take this as his thanks for being a pussy,” I smashed my fist against his nose, pleased when I felt it crunch. “And this…” I launched my fist into his jaw, “…is for being a dumbass.” And I gave him one more, I wasn't supposed to break anything, but his nose might be. “Next time, some asshole shows up to whoop you take it like a man,” I struggled to my feet. “Don't call your friends to take your licks for you.”

  I delivered a final boot to his side to make sure I got my point across. If it weren’t for the burning pain in my side, I would have given him more. I went to get his cut and after giving the fucker that stabbed me another solid kick.

  “If I had the time you'd be the dead mother fucker.”

  I found my way to my truck and peeled my bloody cut open. The white shirt I wore under it was soaking up my blood, and I could see it seeping down into my jeans.

  Goddamn it, there was something about seeing the blood that made it hurt more. I fired the truck up and peeled out so I could go get patched up.

  4

  On the plus side, gushing blood made the wait in the ER short. When the doctor determined my wounds weren't life threatening I was left with a nurse.

  “Nothing vital was hit, they're four inches deep at most,” he said as he prodded one painful
ly, drawing a hiss from me. He turned to the nurse. “You can handle sewing him up. I'll send Latisha in to give him some anesthesia for that. Keep an eye on his vitals and let me know once you're done getting him closed up.”

  “Will do,” was her soft-spoken response.

  I peered at the nurse that would be taking care of me. She had a wealth of black hair tied up in a low pony and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I was blown away for a second until she started to clean my wounds. She had a grimace on her face and didn’t seem to pay me any mind as she took to cleaning the blood from my side. The shirt I had been wearing had been cut up in an effort to see just how badly I was wounded. They started to cut on my jeans, but I protested. I didn’t like the idea of having to walk out of here with my ass hanging out.

  She was efficient despite my grunts of pain. As soon as the blood was cleared away, she quickly put gauze onto each of the breaks in my skin with just enough pressure from medical tape to staunch any bleeding. Then, she shoved a thermometer into my mouth and then wrapped the cuff around my elbow with her stethoscope at the bend, she didn’t speak to me at all as she worked. It usually wouldn’t be something that bothered me, I appreciated the drive to check my vitals before issuing any sort of small talk. I just laid back on the hard plastic table and watched her.

  She was pale compared to myself, I had a natural tan to me, and it seemed to be set off by the darkness of her hair. The fact that I was studying her so hard gave me pause, there was an attraction here. She had some curves to her, her scrubs didn’t hide the thickness of her bust and her round hips. I normally didn’t take an interest in women, not that I was uninterested per say, they were usually more trouble than they were worth. But this one, this one I would bend over if I had the chance.

  “Are you allergic to anything?” she asked again, making me blink.

  Had I been checking her out so hard that I didn’t hear her? Maybe it was the blood loss.

  “No,” I answered.

  “Are you experiencing any dizziness or confusion?”

  “No,” I looked at her face and for a second our gazes connected.

  “Do you feel weak? Weak as in faint or like you aren’t able to do feats of strength like you might usually be able?” She gave me a look over before removing the cuff from my arm and the thermometer from my mouth.

  “No,” all easy enough questions to answer. “There a reason the doctor didn’t ask all these questions?”

  She suddenly got really close to me and shined a small flashlight into my eyes, seeming to look at them hard. I shifted back a little, uncomfortable with the closeness.

  “The ER is understaffed. If there are things nurses are capable of doing, then the doctors give a look over with a diagnosis before going to treat more seriously injured patients. We were worried about the amount of blood you lost, but the stab wounds seem pretty superficial, so I can handle stitching you up without a doctor overlooking. He’ll be back to make sure you’re good and to discharge you with any prescriptions that might be necessary,” she pulled away and wrote down another note. “Have you been drinking or doing any sort of drugs? Illegal or otherwise?”

  “No,” I growled now, feeling my patience starting to dwindle.

  “Are you sure there are no allergies?” Another woman asked as she stepped behind the curtain. She had short cropped black hair and mocha colored skin, her dark brown eyes were narrowed at me. Her expression said no-nonsense. “And make sure you’re telling the truth on the drugs or alcohol because I’m about to make it so you don’t hurt no more and some of my happy juice could interact with different drugs.”

  I stretched, meeting the new girl’s gaze, “I’m clean.”

  “With a body like that, honey, I hope so.” She had a rolling cart with her, and she leaned forward with a syringe and a small glass vial. “Did you see this, girl?” she gave the nurse that had been tending to me a nudge with her hip.

  “Latisha stop,” my nurse flushed, and I tried not to roll my eyes. It wasn’t often that I was ogled, but here it was.

  “Sorry, honey,” she said to me as they began to remove the gauze. “Not every day we get something pretty to look at.” She gave me a grin that would soothe any ruffled feathers if I had bothered to care. “If you feel any pain after I poke you, you’ll need to speak up. Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck feeling every stitch that Dylan makes. It won’t take long for this to go into effect, but still.” I felt the needle poke into me all three times as she numbed the area. “If you need me,” she was looking at the other girl. “Just give me a holler. I won’t be far, and I won’t mind coming back to get a good eye full of this.” She gave me a smirk. “I’d tell you to come back to our ER anytime, baby, but it’s usually not a good thing to do.”

  I grunted and looked to my nurse, Dylan. She prodded my wounds, and her expression was clinical even if it was a little flushed. “Can you feel this?”

  There was a little pressure around the burning of the wound close to my hip.

  “Just pressure,” I said, figuring that honesty was that best idea here. I didn’t like the idea of having to feel her sew each stitch into me.

  “I’m pinching you pretty hard,” her eyes connected with mine. “Are you sure all you can feel is pressure?” I nodded, “If you feel something other than the pressure you need to speak up.”

  She began work without looking up at me again, the pressure increased as she worked but I didn’t make a sound of discomfort. I didn’t want to give her reason to stop.

  “How we doing?” She asked. I grunted, not wanting to give anything away. “It’s important to breathe, aside from the fact that your brain needs oxygen when you’re in pain focusing on your breathing can help. It sounds like crap, and it may not work immediately, but deep breaths in through your nose and out from your mouth will alleviate some of it.”

  I took a deep breath then grimaced, “It’s in my side. How is breathing going to help it? If anything, every time I take a breath it’ll make my side burn more.”

  “Go shallow, but quick breaths won’t help to get oxygen to where it’s needed. If anything short breaths can make things worse,” she paused to snip the thread, and I watched as she moved to the next one. “As soon as I get finished we can contact the police so you can make a report.”

  “Not necessary,” I said trying to focus on my breathing as she suggested.

  “It’s obvious you were attacked,” she pointed out. “You’ve got lesions on your knuckles, so it’s evident that you fought back. But, it’s in your best interest to make a report so the person that stabbed you can be punished accordingly.” She glanced up at me for a split second, “I imagine if this person stabbed you they wouldn’t be shy about doing it to some else.”

  “It’s not necessary,” I said again, hardening my voice, so she got the hint. “Don’t call the cops.” That gave her pause, and she stood still, just looking at me. “Trust me,” I released a breath. “If the guy that stabbed me learned anything, it’s not to stab someone.”

  Her brows drew together then she nodded and went back to work stitching me up. Her expression was clouded as she worked and I could practically see the wheels turning her head. She didn’t speak again, and I closed my eyes as she went to the last hole in my side.

  “Isn’t Dylan a guy’s name?”

  “It could be considered unisex in some circles,” she spoke lightly as if this wasn’t the first time she was asked this question. “My mother was a Bob Dylan fan so,” she shrugged. “That’s why she gave me the name Dylan.”

  “You don’t look that old,” I eyed her hard now. “How is your mom a fan of Dylan?”

  A smile started to twitch at her lips, and I found myself thinking again about how pretty she was. Not something that would usually run through my head when I looked at a girl. I treated women like fish, there was a catch and release program for when I had an itch. It might’ve been a month or two since I last got my dick wet, but here I was eyeing this girl like she would be inte
rested in signing up for the job. While her friend might have commented on my looks, she hadn’t.

  “My mother had me later in life, so she was alive in the sixties and seventies to enjoy Bob Dylan.”

  “Was,” I echoed. “She not anymore?” She shook her head as she finished me up. “Sorry I mentioned it.”

  “It’s a part of life,” she started cleaning up my side again. “You get used to it as a nurse.”

  “She have a favorite song?”

  That got me another look, and she shrugged a shoulder. “Like a Rolling Stone, I think. Really it was a toss up between that and the one about Johanna.”

  I nodded like I knew what she was talking about, “Why not name you Johanna?”