Sabotage: A Vigilante Justice Novel

by Kristin Harte

  Parris grinned and inched back. “You will be. Someday.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Happening.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’re a matched set.” He dove in and kissed my cheek, chuckling when I gasped. “Had to.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “No, you didn’t. But if your body were any more primed for my kiss, you’d be underneath me.” He laughed even harder as I rolled my eyes. Not that he was all that wrong.

  “Go buy your truck. I have stuff to do.”

  “Busy day planned?”

  “I need to get in touch with Shye. She wants my help planning the wedding. And then I have some orders to fill.”

  He grabbed his coat from where he’d hung it on the back of a chair, looking out the window that overlooked the front of the store. “You don’t get many walk-in customers, do you?”

  “In Justice? No. Very few.”

  “Good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “The fewer people shopping, the less chance the wrong person will walk in.”

  My stomach dropped, and every thought went to the little boy likely picking out mismatched clothes in the other room. “Do I need to be worried about that?”

  Parris paused, the beat between me speaking and him answering far more noticeable than I wanted it to be. “No.”

  That didn’t sound all that reassuring. “No, or not really? Or not right now?”

  “All of the above.” He grabbed my elbow again, tugging me closer in that way he tended to do. Bringing me against him as if needing to feel me close. “I have to deal with this truck this morning. You be careful out there.”

  Out there. As if the danger were all around us. Which I guess it was. “You, too.”

  “Aw, see? You do care.” He headed for the door, laughing when I flipped him off. “That’s my girl.”

  “Still not yours.”

  “Yet.”

  “Never.”

  “So damn stubborn.”

  “My dad would say tenacious.”

  “When I finally meet him, I’ll tell him he’s right about that.” Parris paused, looking toward the hallway and raising his voice as he hollered, “Bye, Beckett. I’ll see you later, little man.”

  “Bye, Parris. I’ll take care of my mom for you.” Beckett raced out—missing a shirt—and bumped fists with Parris. The two working through some sort of combination of hits and movements I had no idea how to follow.

  “Good man, young one,” Parris said when they were through. “Stay strong for her.”

  “You too.”

  Parris grinned, raising his eyebrows as he caught me looking. “See? It’s just a matter of time, beauty.”

  But I wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Still, as Parris headed out the door and Beckett returned to his room to finish getting dressed, I gave myself a single moment to admit that the man was right. If he managed to keep up this attention, I’d fall for him. Hook, line, and sinker. Two days, and I was toast.

  It was just a matter of time until I got burned.

  Chapter Nine

  PARRIS

  I’D LEFT Mercy’s place with a smile on my face. Every minute I spent with her, I saw the wall she’d built around herself crumble just a little bit more. She might not have been ready to ask me for another kiss just yet, but I was close. So damn close.

  “Crystal Falls Bike and Hobby. Milt speaking. How can I help you?”

  I tapped the button for speaker and set the phone on the table in the motel room I’d been staying at. The place wasn’t much, but it was behind The Jury Room and owned by Deacon, someone I needed to track down eventually. Once I got done with Milt.

  “Hey, Milt. This is Parris. We spoke yesterday about a bike for a six-year-old boy.”

  “Yes, of course. We have you on the books for a private appointment tomorrow, is that correct?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you would have everything we need. His mom mentioned something about a helmet last night.”

  I’d ridden a bike all through elementary school without a helmet and had never had a problem, but Beckett needed to be safe. Kids these days wore helmets, which meant I needed to make sure Beckett had one. A good one.

  “Of course,” Milt said. “We have all sorts of helmets in many sizes. I’m sure we’ll have something he needs.”

  Just something would never be good enough. “And they’re good ones, right? His mom will castrate me if I buy him a helmet that cracks the first time he takes a tumble.”

  “All good ones. There are regulations for bike helmets, and we only buy from reputable manufacturers.”

  “Perfect.” I yawned, fighting hard against the exhaustion tugging me down. Needing sleep more than just about anything…except to make sure Beckett got what he needed. “I just wanted to make sure we could buy the bike and he could ride it around once we got home.”

  Home. The word struck me, shooting a picture of the little apartment over the hardware store straight into my head. I hadn’t thought much about what home meant in years, having never really had one. My dad had been moved from base to base, so I’d gotten used to leaving things behind and living in new places at a young age. I’d been alone for most of them…until Dad remarried. A woman to call mom—though I never did—entered the picture, and I was no longer alone on those moves. Then Ashley had come along, but I’d already been halfway out the door, so I hadn’t really gotten to know her well. Not until much later—post military years. After my dad had died and left me alone in the world, when I’d joined the same club as her husband. When I’d decided to try out the whole family thing.

  Not what I needed to be thinking about.

  Basically, between being an Army brat, my own military years, plus my time in the clubs and in prison, home was a foreign concept. But I was beginning to think I’d found something to hang that moniker on. I just needed to figure out how to earn my access to it.

  “I’m sure we’ll have exactly what you need,” Milt said, yanking me from my memories and bringing me back to the here and now. To the cheap motel room I rented in a town I was new to and the danger lurking around every corner. But I could buy Beckett a bike and keep him safe from any falls that might happen, keep him from busting his skull on the trail. At least it was something. I just hoped it was enough.

  Nothing had been enough for Ashley.

  “Great.” I rose to my feet and began to pace, needing a little blood flow to stay awake and keep my focus. To move past those failures and work on something new. Something good. Something I might be able to do right. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Excellent, sir. We’ll be here.”

  I ended the call with a tap and then scrolled through my text messages, looking for the one about the truck. A guy named Jackson who worked with Gage and Alder at the mill. He had a ten-year-old pickup for sale with low miles and a strong engine. Exactly what I was looking for. I found the message and verified I had the time and place noted so I could check out the truck and make sure it was what I needed. If so, I’d be buying it. That meant I needed to head into Rock Falls to the bank and pull out some cash. Which likely meant running into some Black Angels and dealing with their bullshit. Not what I wanted, but something I could prepare for. I glanced at the clock—time to go.

  Three hours later, I made the final turn toward Justice, my inner jacket pocket heavy with an envelope of cash and my phone dead silent. I didn’t want to hear any more shit from the Black Angels—not today. I’d run into two on my trip, and that had been more than enough. I had a list of things to get done, and dealing with their drama was not on it.

  Still, I’d made a few calls while I’d waited for the tellers to verify I had the cash at my bank and count out the money. I was still looking for this Coyote from the Soul Suckers. I’d even called in a few minor favors to
collect information on him, something I rarely did. Favors were the name of the game in my world. It was why I was working so hard to help Alder and Deacon keep Justice safe—I owed Alder for saving Jinx’s ass. Plus, Deacon still owed me for supplying him and Alder with info on the Soul Suckers in the first place. Having another favor owed—from a Kennard, no less—would be a boon for sure. I just had to find the man who’d ghosted the world as soon as he’d killed the chick in Justice and give his info to Finn. Tricky, but not impossible. And something worth working toward.

  I rolled into the lot at The Jury Room but didn’t head for the motel. Two cars sat outside the bar, not exactly what I’d been expecting since Deacon had closed the business just a couple of nights ago. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the bikers coming in and making trouble for his patrons, and I didn’t blame him. The Black Angels were bad, but the Soul Suckers wouldn’t be concerned about any collateral damage that got in their way. Neither crew was exactly what you’d call loyal customers.

  The first car I recognized—Deacon’s. Totally normal for the thing to be parked in the lot, even with the bar closed. The second car worried me. I didn’t recognize it, hadn’t seen it around town, which meant a stranger was holed up inside. I grabbed my gun from the saddlebag on my bike and tucked it into my jacket pocket, wishing I had my shoulder holster. I hadn’t wanted to wear it around Beckett that morning and had forgotten to put it on once I’d returned to the motel. Stupid mistake on my part and one I wouldn’t be making again. No matter what TV shows and movies portrayed, no one with gun experience would tuck their firearm into the waistband of their pants. Misfires and accidents happened, and no man wanted to shoot his dick off. Which was why my loose gun was in my jacket pocket instead.

  Shoulder holster…always.

  I stepped inside the bar with my head up and my eyes sweeping the room, my hand in my pocket and holding the gun. Just in case. Deacon looked up when the door opened, giving me a chin nod and a smile.

  “The man of the hour. Get over here, Parris. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

  No holster needed, apparently. I let go of the gun and strolled to the bar, eyeing the man sitting at it. Cop. Definitely a cop. No way was he anything but, even though there was no badge or sign of any law enforcement affiliation. I could practically smell the job on him, though.

  “Parris, this is Zane Grogan. He works for the county sheriff’s office. Zane, this is Parris of the Black Angels.”

  I shook the man’s hand, waiting for him to lay out how the conversation would be going.

  Zane didn’t take long. He tipped his beer bottle—no, wait, root beer—my way and came out swinging. “So, I hear you’re planning on taking out the Soul Suckers camped outside of town.”

  That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. “Deacon—”

  “He’s good, Parris.” Deacon gave me a look, one filled with confidence. “He works for the sheriff’s office but is on our side.”

  I plopped into a seat, the exhaustion of the last few days of minimal sleep catching up with me. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “The Soul Suckers killed our sheriff,” Zane said, looking pissed as hell and ready to fight. “I want payback.”

  I shook my head, the last five years of chasing that same demon without success weighing on my mind. “Vengeance won’t fix things.”

  “No, but it’ll make me feel better.”

  “I doubt that.” I caught Deacon’s stare. “You got any coffee by chance? I’m beat.”

  “You look it. Rough night?” He turned to the back of the bar, reaching for one of them pod thingies to brew a single cup of coffee. Not my usual choice, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Rough couple of days.”

  Zane huffed. “Tell me about it.”

  I caught Deacon’s smirk before his face went flat again, some sort of phony concerned look appearing. “Zane’s boss’ body was found yesterday.”

  The sheriff Gage had killed when the guy had threatened Katie. I had a feeling Deacon’s good friend Zane didn’t know that part of the story. “Oh yeah? Where at?”

  Deacon handed me the cup of coffee, almost seeming to wait until I had taken a pull of the hot beverage before saying, “Rock Falls. At the Soul Suckers’ clubhouse.”

  I choked. No way around it. Coffee burned up my nose and down my throat at the same time, and I coughed for about a whole minute before I finally caught my breath. “The fuck?”

  “Yeah,” Zane said, handing me a couple of napkins. “The Soul Suckers tried to hide it, but they did a crap job. My forensics crews were all over that scene.”

  I glanced at Deacon, knowing there was no way the Soul Suckers had just left a sheriff’s body at their house. The man looked cool as a cucumber, though. Almost arrogantly cool. Damn, did I like him.

  “They know how he died?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “Gunshot wound to the chest.” Zane picked at the label on his bottle of soda, staring at the dark glass as if it held all the answers he needed in life. “Likely a rifle but it’ll take a few days for the autopsy. Ballistics could take months.”

  “Sounds like a slow case.”

  “Right. Which is why I’m in for this hit on the Soul Suckers. They don’t deserve to keep breathing on my dime.”

  In prison. In other words… “So, you want them all dead.”

  Zane took a strong pull of his root beer before slamming the bottle down. “Yep.”

  That simple. “All of them. An entire clubhouse of riders.”

  “Why? You can’t handle that.”

  Never let it be said I wasn’t a confident SOB. “I can handle anything. Can you?”

  “Definitely.”

  I shrugged, taking another drink of my coffee—not choking this time—before nodding toward Deacon. “Then you’ve got the right crew to help you.”

  “Deacon said you guys already had a plan.”

  A shit one—Deacon in the air on sniper duty, Finn as backup, and me going in all guns blazing to take out as many of the Soul Suckers as I could. Adding another man to the team, especially one who might know his way around a firearm, changed things. As did still having my own crew in town.

  “We do, but we’ll need to rework it if you’re involved.”

  Zane grinned, the smile growing all slow across his face. Man, that was a lot of teeth. “There’s more than just me.”

  That caught my attention. “What do you mean?”

  It was Deacon who answered. “Zane has his own crew of sorts. Think of them like the white knights of the Rocky Mountain Front.”

  “White knights…like saving people and shit?”

  “Something like that.” Zane turned my way. “I’ve got nine guys to help, plus me. All well trained in various things that we could use. Surveillance, sharpshooters, snipers like Deacon, demolitions experts—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. How the fuck do you know these people?”

  “You two aren’t the only ones who were in the military.”

  I hadn’t pegged him as a brother-in-arms. Definitely not a Marine like me. He didn’t have the sociopathic air to him of the SEALs I’d met, and he definitely didn’t fit the Special Forces mold. There was only one thing that came to mind.

  “You an airman?”

  “Yup. Fifteen years wearing the uniform.”

  Huh. Okay, I could see that one. “Where were you based?”

  “Tampa, mostly.”

  Tampa, where the Air Force intelligence offices were located. I had a smarty on my hands. “You see any action?”

  His face went blank, the look of a man trying real fucking hard not to remember. “Yeah. Quite a bit.”

  Well, okay then. “So, ten guys?”

  “Right.” He took another pull from his root beer before setting it down. “I can get you a list of their qualifications for the planning, though we might be better off if I just join you and Deacon on that. I know my team.”

  My day had just pic
ked way up. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ve got things to do in the morning but can make myself available later.”

  “Nah, tomorrow’s Sunday. I don’t plan or commit murders on the Sabbath.” The guy stood up, looking dead serious. Meanwhile, I could only stare. No murders on the Sabbath…was he some sort of religious zealot? A holy roller with a gun? Had he just become the most dangerous man in the room? Had I somehow walked into an episode of the Twilight Zone?

  I glanced at Deacon. The sniper was practically grinning, looking way too pleased with this turn of events. So maybe Zane wasn’t a zealot, just a really religious person who took that whole eye-for-an-eye thing seriously.

  Twilight Zone for sure. “So…Monday, then?”

  Zane nodded. “I’ll call you on Monday, and we can work something out. I don’t want to wait too long, though.”

  “Sure. Of course. Just not on Sundays.”

  “Right.” The guy smirked. “No murders on Sundays for me or my team.”

  “All righty, then.”

  “Thanks for your help today, Zane.” Deacon reached across the bar and shook the lawman’s hand. “You’ll hear from us.”

  “Good. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  I stared at Deacon as Zane walked out, waiting for the door to close behind him before I shook my head.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  “What just happened is we found ten experienced soldiers to back us up on taking out the Soul Suckers. You ready?”

  “Yeah.” Always. Except I had a little boy I’d made a promise to. “Just not tomorrow.”

  “What? You don’t kill on the Sabbath either?”

  Fuck me, I’d almost let that comment go. I couldn’t now, though. “That guy religious?”

  “Very.” Deacon frowned, glancing toward the door Zane—Mr. No Killing on the Sabbath—had walked through. “Zane is deadly as fuck but searching for grace at the same time.”

  “I find that…” I didn’t even have a word for it. Deacon did, though.

  “Contradictory? So do I, but the man has skills and knows how to keep his mouth shut. We can use him and his team.”