Blow Out (Steel Veins Book 1)

by Jackson Kane

  My eyes opened, slowly drifting up to Bones. The man who’d killed me. He was still bald but had shaved off his pencil thin mustache and, of course, was well dressed in a fine button-down and slacks beneath his leather vest.

  “Unfulfilling.” I just barely managed to growl out the word.

  My shaking had stopped just before Spyder arrived, and now my body and intent were stone still. A sense of purpose trickled into the cup of my soul, mixing with the flood of bloody, savage rage that had filled me to bursting. All the hate and hurt that radiated through me like a ruptured nuclear plant was forced down, pushed down and buried beneath a mountain of single-mindedness. I released the murdered mother’s hand and stood up to face them all. There would be a time to grieve and pour out my weakness…

  But this wasn’t it. There were more people to kill first.

  “I sent the reaper your regards.” My words came a little easier.

  “Why did you call me, Poet? What is all this?” Bones asked, holstering his two guns and crossing his arms. He felt comfortable enough now that the last of his men had filtered into the room and surrounded Star and me.

  “Unsanctioned doxa lab on Lobos turf,” I said slowly, testing his knowledge of what was happening in his own backyard.

  “I have fucking eyes, gringo.” Bones’s scowl told me that this wasn’t something he’d been told until I gave Spyder’s brother the tip.

  “Meet the Knights.” I motioned to the corpse behind them. “Veins support club. I wasn’t bluffing when I said they’d stepped up their game. Figured the only way you’d take me seriously was if I showed you. Hell, I even left stumpy out there alive for you to verify everything.”

  “Well, Poet, you certainly have my attention now. I’m all ears.” Bones was genuinely curious as to why a dead man would come back to life to help his killer. “What do you got to say?”

  Couldn’t blame his skepticism, but if I didn’t sell this story, both Star and I would be headed back to the grave. This time, it would be permanent. “Your plan is going to fail without my help. The Veins know you’re going to attack during the annual. They’ll plan to draw you in further, overcommit, and make you walk into a slaughterhouse,” I said evenly without any hint of hesitance or nervousness in my voice or posture. It was an easy sell now that I’d talked to Tee. In essence, I was telling Bones the truth.

  “So you know we got a mole inside. Who’s to say we don’t know exactly what’s in store for us?” Bones was good at this. By giving a little, he was hoping to see how much I knew. “Why do we need you?”

  “It’s being hosted in Leslie this year, my old clubhouse. Your mole may be connected, may even be in Deadeye’s crew, but he’s not in my chapter.” I knew and could vouch for every single person in my chapter of the Veins. Bren was the only person to officially become a member in years. The rest of the club might be compromised, but our ship had no leaks. “Your mole doesn’t know anything about my chapter, how much firepower we have there, our defenses, anything. If you knew the horror show your guys were walking into, you’d be a hell of a lot more worried about the guys watching your back, not recruiting every scumbag that could rob a convenience store in broad daylight.”

  I was referring to the hang-around who I took out at Moretti’s butcher shop.

  “You’re raising an army because you’re flying blind,” I concluded, scanning the hard faces of Bones’s men and slowly watching the apprehension seep in. “What’s your strategy? Hoping that at the end of the day, some of your guys might survive?”

  It was a bluff, an educated guess, but a good one.

  Bones regarded me carefully, weighing what I said against everything he knew. No-nonsense and calculating, he wasn’t the kind of man who made rash decisions. He was a mathematician at heart, and this was just another chess game. Whatever the outcome, he would never allow himself to lose face or show weakness. I had to tread lightly, balance the appropriate amount of anger, fear, and respect.

  “Why do you want to hurt your family so badly?” he finally asked with genuine curiosity. “How can I possibly trust a Vein, one whom I already put in the ground once but was too stubborn to stay there?”

  “Because I need you.” I swallowed hard and dipped my eyes for a moment, showing a little vulnerability. “They have all the money I’ve ever made with the club, and I want it back plus interest.”

  “Greed. Turns out the great Poet toils in the dirt with the rest of us after all.” Bones smiled, shaking his head. “I knew that asylum story you were spinnin’ last time was bullshit. But money... money, I can understand.”

  “If I go back there alone, they’ll kill me.” My frown deepened. “But with you, I’ll have a chance.”

  “Then what?” Bones cocked his chin into the air, exuding superiority now that he thought we were having a real conversation. “You patch in with us and become a Lobo?”

  “Fuck no. You know that wouldn’t work for either of us.” I let some of my resolve show. The Lobos would never accept me. Once a Vein always a Vein. “I can get you in at the right time to do the most damage. Once your guys kill Deadeye and his crew, the mother chapter will be gone and the Steel Veins will fall apart.”

  “And you?” Bones asked.

  “Me and my girl disappear to a tropical beach somewhere far away from….” I looked down at the mostly covered woman and her child at my feet.

  Bones frowned at the mess. He was a ruthless pragmatist, not a sadistic psychopath. Just because he would’ve had the woman and child killed didn’t mean he would’ve wanted to.

  On some level, Bones could understand me wanting to distance myself from all this.

  “¿En verdad se puede confiar en este gringo?” Spyder expressed his doubts about my sincerity to Bones.

  “Verifica todo. Vamos con cuidado. Una vez que él deje de sernos útil, no hay razón para quedarnos con él o la mujer. No vamos a dejar cabos sueltos,” Bones confirmed what I thought.

  Star and I wouldn’t be walking away after all this was over.

  They were too proud and confident of their bilingual advantage that they didn’t even bother to whisper. I still had yet to let on that I knew Spanish, not even to my own club. It was the only weapon that could never be taken away from me.

  “Well?” I asked, playing dumb and extending my hand to shake. “We have a deal?”

  “Si.” Bones took my hand then had one of his lieutenants toss me a burner phone. “But know this, if you double-cross me?”

  “You’ll what? Shoot me again?” I flipped it open and looked through the contacts. There was only one number. His. “Yeah, I got it.”

  For better or worse, the deal with the Devil was finally struck.

  I was emotionally exhausted and desperately needed to go lie down. With our car now gone, there was one last thing I needed to take care of before we left.

  Bones whistled, whirling one finger in the air, telling his guys to start wrapping things up here. They probably would search any bodies left for anything of value then set the place to burn. As far as the locals were concerned, it would be just another doxa cooking explosion.

  On the way out, I rifled through the pocket of the biker I let live and grabbed his keys. He wouldn’t be riding anywhere ever again.

  “One last thing, Bones,” I called back to him while standing over the groaning Knight lying at my feet who was only now starting to regain consciousness.

  Bones and Spyder walked into the front room where we were. Bones jerked his head up in a go-ahead-and-speak motion.

  I thought of what the Knights had done here. All the collateral damage and how it could’ve been so much worse. These assholes were the ones who brought those families here. “When you’re done with this prick—” I ground my heel into the front of biker’s blown-out knee. The bones and cartilage popped beneath my thick, rubber boot. The dry, cracked, wood floor drank up the pool of blood around his legs like a famished sponge. The biker howled with a face contorted by pain and tears. “—you kill
him slowly.”

  Bones gravely nodded to me then turned his attention to the wounded Knight.

  I took Star’s hand, and we walked out.

  The key slid nicely into the bike I was hoping for—a new burnt orange Harley Sportster. I checked it for bullet holes, finding only one in the leather seat probably from some time ago. We both got on. The engine turned over like a dream. I revved it a few times, listening for anything that sounded off, but the bike only roared and purred.

  Goddamn, it had been too long since I had two wheels under me.

  I missed my Kawasaki.

  I couldn’t shake the devastation that rattled me with the way everything went down, even if it was successful in the end. The cost of that success chipped away a large part of my soul that was lost forever.

  Then as we rode off, with the vibration under me and Star crushing me in a warm hug, I felt a shred of home return, whatever the fuck home was. A small measure of peace came with it.

  I just worried it might not be enough. I had been drowning in thick, black oil. What I had seen and done tonight dragged me down into a darker place than I’d ever been before.

  I couldn’t shake the wish I had for one last bullet.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Star

  Something that happened inside that ghost town post office had rattled Remy.

  I wanted to know, to see if I could help him, but I was too afraid to ask him. With that woman and her child right there on the ground… I was afraid that he might tell me if I did ask.

  I wanted to be stronger. I was stronger, but Remy was a man made of barbed wire, and to see him rattled like that scared the hell out of me.

  It was selfish, but I now felt glad he had me wait across the street.

  Leaving the post office, I knew I was in for a hell of a ride. Remy hadn’t been on a bike since he was almost killed by that Steel Veins kill team. Eagerness exuded from him like a legendary musician getting back on stage after a big hiatus.

  Remy belonged on a bike.

  When he started the engine, he palmed the gas tank with a gentle reverence. I imagined that whichever angry, ruthless god Remy prayed to must have been comprised of gasoline, chrome, rubber, and hellish fire.

  The bike’s sudden acceleration broke my inertia as we pulled away from the Lobos and their brutal interrogation of the lone Knight. I’d only been on a bike a few times and always found it hard to prepare for that initial burst of speed.

  The roads to the dead town were packed dirt for a few miles, but the second his back wheel hit real pavement, Remy opened the throttle up and we took off. Not like a bullet, but more like a freight train. The Harley was much louder and had more of a weighty presence than Remy’s Ninja. Remy’s old bike was so fast and smooth that if he put his arms out on the highway we’d lift off like a jet.

  All in all, I liked the feel of this Harley better. It felt more substantial, but I definitely understood why Remy preferred the Asian style more. Where this bike felt like I was on a rapidly accelerating steam engine, his Ninja was like sitting on a rocket that was taking off.

  Not sitting, more like, holding on for dear fucking life!

  It was the embodiment of white-knuckled, screaming, crying speed, especially how Remy rode it.

  I wasn’t as much of an adrenaline junkie as he was. I just loved the shrugging off of expectations and obligations that came with this lifestyle. Being an outlaw biker made me feel invincible... to a degree. Guns still scared the shit out of me.

  But I had ended life now, I reminded myself.

  After what Rio tried to do to me I felt no remorse for being at least partially responsible for his death. I might not have killed Rio but I did shoot him. Rio deserved what he got. The other biker who was fleeing for his life, he probably did too. How could he not after what I saw in there?

  But I didn’t know for myself.

  Despite the rocky calluses forming around my heart I really hoped I’d never have to do anything like that ever again.

  We traveled in a pocket of roaring wind and sound until we pulled into our crappy little motel with so much speed and sensory deprivation that I had no idea how long of a ride it was, not that it mattered. I had my eyes closed most of the way. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to focus on the rhythm of the ride and let my mind drift.

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed being on a bike. I could only imagine how Remy felt.

  Pushing open our door, it struck me how absurd it all was. We left this small one-room apartment as just another frustrated, dead-end couple, but returned to it with a fierceness of purpose. Despite the heavier-than-usual suit of sorrow Remy wore, the fire in his movements and in those dark eyes was unmistakable.

  I wanted to ask him about the church car and what had happened to him in that room, but the time still didn’t feel right. He seemed to want a little space, so I’d save my million questions for tomorrow.

  Remy stripped off his shirt by the mirror and gazed into his reflection, as if waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t even know how to ask. The divot scar running across his cheek from Bones’s bullet was a shadowy crater in the harsh bathroom light. Finally giving up his silent argument with the man in the mirror, he cleaned the blood off his hands and arms. Then, propped up on his elbows, he ran his wet hands over his face.

  Back lit, under a shock of hair, his eyes were polished coal, and when his gaze shifted to me through that mirror, I shuddered at its intensity.

  That burning passion within him ignited my skin, and goose bumps erupted all across me with arcing electricity. Even if he didn’t kill them all himself, half a dozen people were dead tonight because of him. It was easy to forget just how dangerous this man was.

  Remy was a force of nature.

  When I started changing out of my dusty waitress outfit to get into the shower, he turned and faced me with a smoldering, unreadable expression. I had his full attention. With my clothes on the floor all around me, I looked into his hard eyes and watched them scour every inch of skin. My naked form lay bare for him to feast on. His ravaging eyes were somehow harsher than I was comfortable with.

  Was he actually seeing me at all?

  I closed my eyes and prayed for the answer.

  The faint footfalls of his thick, rubber-soled boots vibrated on the thin carpet and up through my curled toes as he came closer. I could smell the copper of dried blood on his clothes as he stalked completely around me. I braced for a touch that never came.

  I opened my eyes when the shower turned on and felt weirdly dejected. Did he not want me? I slipped on a towel and patiently waited my turn for the shower. Something was frighteningly off about Remy.

  By the time I got out of the long, mostly hot shower and put on my ridiculous pajamas. The lights in the bedroom were all off. Remy lay motionless, turned away from me in the bed. I reached over to comfort him, but hesitated right before I touched him.

  I had never seen him like this. I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but I was still afraid. Quietly lying next to him in the dark room, I was overtaken by memories of these past few months. Being with him was so rewarding, but also so difficult. He was a lion in a lamb’s world.

  How could he not see food everywhere he looked?

  A thousand thoughts turned over in my head until, eventually, sleep muted them all. My dreams were labored, vicious things. I was in a dark room, and for a moment, I couldn’t remember where.

  The motel. I was in the motel with Remy. We lived here for now.

  Suddenly, there was the startling sensation of my pajama bottoms and panties being ripped down that felt all too real. Sleep made everything hazy. Flashes of Top and the first night at Muse’s haunted me. Tough as I was now, Remy’s brother still scared the hell out of me.

  Then I felt the distinctive wet pressure of a tongue on my clit. The last of my sleep was torn from me like the last stubborn leaves from the ash tree we had in our backyard during a harsh early winter gale.

  I moaned, but
out of surprise and the inability to quickly form words, not arousal. My hands immediately sprang down to stop what was happening. It was when I felt the scar on his cheek and the hard angles of his face that things began to feel more familiar.

  Remy, thank God. I sighed.

  My body straightened when I felt his tongue push between the lips of my pussy and slowly spread me apart—something I would’ve enjoyed a lot more, had I not been still shaking off a groggy, waking numbness.

  Why now? Why not when we got home?

  His touch was quick and rough, which was fine. I liked rough, but I couldn’t shake this nagging worry. There was something unsettling about the way Remy moved. Every jerk and motion had a sense of immediacy of it. There was a feeling of urgency to it all. It was all so mechanical. Like there was no “Remy” in there.

  It freaked me out a little.

  “I’d gotten worried,” I said, tentatively trying to diffuse the mounting tension. He hadn’t said a word to me since before he walked into that post office. “Thought you—”

  Remy cut me off by abruptly changing position. He was now on top of me, his hard cock slid up the inside of my naked thigh. His power and dominance still felt great, but something that was hard to place was very off. His touch was alien to me.

  I didn’t know who he thought he was fucking, but it wasn’t me.

  “Stop.”

  He didn’t. His hands squeezed into my upper thigh hard enough for the pain to surpass the point of erotic. Now I was getting really worried. “Please, stop,” I said a little louder.

  He continued. The tip of his cock brushed my pussy. I wasn’t sure where his mind was at, or if he could even hear me, but this was all wrong! My heart raced, not with that amazing thrill I felt every other time he touched me, but with a rising fear like when his older brother, Top, had taken me.

  “Remy! Stop, goddammit!” I grabbed his cock and forced it away.

  Remy stopped immediately. I’d finally broken through to him.

  He collapsed on top of me, his head resting on my chest. I hesitantly ran my fingers through his hair and placed a hand over the scars on his back. His heart was racing just as fast as mine, if not faster.