by Daisy March
“Good work. So what’s on there?”
Mouser put his mug down. “You ready for this?”
“Go on.”
“There’s stuff on there you wouldn’t believe.”
“Like what?”
“Like the recipe for Cake, first of all. Full instructions on how to set up a bakery anywhere, cheaper than a meth lab, quicker to move. As for the drug itself, there were even details of how to administer an antidote.”
“Why would you need one?”
“Wipes out the addictive qualities of the drug. If they weren’t so money grabbing, they could easily make a non-addictive version but instead they keep pumping this version out because it’s a few cents cheaper per pill.”
“You’re smiling. Why?”
“I might have put together a couple of antidotes myself.” He held out two white pills. “You two take one of them and you’re protected for the next few days. Anyone tries to slip you anything while you’re in the club and it won’t work. Be careful though, I might not have got the formula perfect.”
“Appreciated,” Slater said, taking the two pills from him.
“It’s big, Slater. The Backwoods Boys are running the show but they’ve only got so far because they’ve bought out some of the local police.”
“The two men after her. What were their names?” He thought for a moment. “Johnson and Smith. They on there?”
“Yep, all the evidence you’d need to bring the whole thing down.” He passed an envelope to Slater. “Printed a few things out in case anything happens to me or the memory card. Have a look.”
“It doesn’t make sense though,” Slater said, flicking through the sheets. “These bakeries would cost a fortune to set up on the scale they’d need. Where did the Backwoods Boys get the money from?”
“That’s the most interesting part. You heard of Montague Norman?”
“Owner of The Milk Bar, met him last night. Is he the money?”
“He’s the frontman but his brother’s funding the whole thing. Guess who he is.”
“Who?”
Mouser pulled a photo out of the envelope. Recognize that face?”
Slater looked down at the middle aged man in the photo. He was talking into a microphone in the picture.
“What do you see?” Mouser asked.
“Balding. Fat. Expensive suit. Creepy smile.”
“Anything else?”
“Should I?”
Mouser tapped the man’s face. “That is Jeremy Norman.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“He’s the mayor.”
“Holy shit, you’re serious?”
“The mayor is the money. He’s funded the whole thing.”
“But why?”
“Because if it’s one thing rich people like, it’s getting richer. He’s funding the Backwoods Boys through his brother and he’s taking 80% of the profits for his campaign. Using some of it to keep the police sweet so they don’t look too close at The Milk Bar.
“Johnson and Smith are his heavies, getting their hands dirty so he doesn’t have to while he can campaign and look squeaky clean.”
“Campaign for what?”
“He’s running for state senate next election.”
Slater sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Holy shit. No wonder they wanted that memory card back.”
“That’s not all. The guy this belonged to, Billy Noakes.”
“What about him?”
“He wasn’t working the story alone. It looks like another journalist was working the case. I rang the paper and they’ve not heard from her since the day he died. I hacked her schedule and she was going to The Milk Bar last night. Might have been there while you were. How did you get on finding the bakery?”
“No luck but we’ve been invited back tonight.”
“Be careful. If they find out what you know, you won’t make it back outside. Maybe you’re better off dropping it, Slater. Letting it go. This is a fucking big thing you’re biting into.”
“I know what I’m doing, Mouser. I’ll burn the bakery even if it kills me.”
He felt someone looking at him. Turning he saw Beth standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking very awake and hot as hell in the pajamas he’d given her.
“Morning,” he said as she walked out. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it,” she replied. “I can’t believe it was the mayor who had Billy and my father killed. Give me a gun. I’ll kill him myself.”
Slater got to his feet. “No, you won’t. You try and take on the mayor and his goons will gun you down before you get close. Either that or the police’ll pick you up and then even I won’t be able to help you in time.”
“So what? We just leave him out there to get away with it?”
“We take out the bakery as planned. That’ll bring the mayor looking for whoever did it. We leave enough clues to bring him our way and deal with him club style.”
“And how’s that?”
Slater managed a cold smile. “Let’s just say it’ll throw a spanner in his election campaign to shake hands with broken arms and no teeth. But listen, this shit is getting bigger than I thought. If you don’t want to go back to The Milk Bar, I’ll understand.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll do it. Just promise me they won’t hurt Leanne.”
Slater turned back to Mouser. “Where is Leanne?”
“At Dooley’s place tidying the hell out of it. He’s not happy. Apparently she’s been putting flowers on his windowsills and there are cushions everywhere.”
Slater managed a laugh. “I can picture that. Dooley will not be happy.” He tapped the memory card. “You hold onto that. Be at the bar tonight. If we’re not there by midnight, take the whole club and get that to the paper. Get this thing blown wide open.”
“You don’t want me to do that now?”
“I don’t want the mayor to get wind of this unless we have no choice. I want to get in there and blow up the bakery first.”
“And what if you can’t?”
“Then tell the whole world. You’ve got enough proof there to get him a world of pain. Good work, Mouser. I mean it.”
Beth tapped him on the shoulder. “Why not go to the papers anyway? Wouldn’t that be safer?”
He squeezed her hand. “This is personal. I want to bring it down myself.”
“For Nancy?”
“And for you. And for everyone out there who’ll end up getting hurt because of those bastards.” He stood up, shaking Mouser’s hand. “You get yourself a free drink tonight, Mouser, you earned it.”
“A bottle of bourbon it is.”
“Just don’t get hammered. You might need to make a fast getaway if they get onto us.”
“Anyone recognize you last night?”
“Nope but we might have got lucky. You take care with that memory card.”
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. You just take care of her. She’s clearly important.”
He frowned.
Mouser laughed. “I haven’t seen you smile for months, Slater. She walks in the room and you light up. If I didn’t have you pegged for a cynical son of a bitch, I’d say you were in love.”
“Get out of here.”
Mouser went, shutting the door behind him. His motorcycle revved up and then the noise faded away. Beth had taken a seat on the couch and was staring into the empty fireplace. Slater came to sit next to her.
“I’ve got a plan,” he said. “But I can’t do it without your help.”
“Anything you need, I’ll do it,” she replied, giving him a warm look. “I want this over as much as you.”
“Get this right and no one will come looking for you ever again.”
“What do I have to do?”
“I need Montague distracting while I’m snooping around the place. Reckon you can do it?”
“He took a shine to me last night. I think this Little can come up with s
ome way of occupying him.”
“You might have to act like you like him, if you get what I mean?”
“I can act if I have to, Slater. Remember I was only pretending to be your Little.”
At first, he thought, looking at her closely. Had she forgotten what she’d said last night? That she wanted to do this for real? Was that just the night talking and not her real feelings?
He thought about asking her but it wasn’t the time. He needed to concentrate on getting this done. There would be plenty of time to deal with her afterward. If they made it out of there of course.
He thought again about simply raiding the place with the entire club. He discounted the idea quickly. Nothing had changed from when he last considered it.
By the look of what Mouser had shown him, they could simply set up the bakery somewhere else and he’d have shown his hand too early, they’d be more on guard wherever they moved to.
“You look lost in thought,” Beth said. “Want to tell me?”
“Just make sure you keep Montague occupied,” he said, suddenly aware he was snapping at her. “Get that right and I’ll deal with the rest.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “What do we do until then?”
“We go on a submission test run. Make sure you’re as obedient as can be ready for tonight.”
“Whatever you say.” She grinned. “When do we start?”
“You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Get dressed and then I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
He watched her head into the bedroom. Was he taking too big a risk letting her go back there with him? He couldn’t do it without her but he was putting her in danger. Did he have the right to do that? Was there an alternative?
Sure there was. Walk away. Leave the Backwoods Boys to take over.
He folded his arms. No, he couldn’t do that. Drake had dealt with Cake. He could do the same. Crush the damned drug before it got any further out into the country.
He unfolded his arms, looking down at his hands. How clean would they be by the time he was done? He blinked, seeing them dripping with blood after he’d dealt with the three who’d taken Nancy.
He got the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before they were dripping with blood again.
After this was over, he would have to let Beth go. This wasn’t a world for someone as innocent as her. She’d been damaged enough by her past.
If it wasn’t Cake and the Backwoods Boys, it would be trouble with the law or some other club. There was always trouble in his world. He couldn’t keep her. It wouldn’t be fair on her.
He would get through the night and then he would work out a way to get her out of his world and into somewhere safe. No matter how much it would hurt to let her go, he would do it. That way she would be safe.
He would be alone again but that would be a small price to pay. One night of danger and then he would make sure she was never in danger again.
“Ready?” Beth said, appearing in front of him.
He looked up at her, smiling at the sight of her wearing the dress he’d given her.
“Ready,” he agreed, taking her hand and leading her outside to his waiting motorcycle.
13
Beth
The diner was a quiet one. Beth was glad of that. Despite her newfound confidence in herself, she was still nervous to be out in public wearing her Little clothes. What if someone said something to her?
She looked across at Slater. He always seemed so confident, so relaxed, like nothing could ever trouble him.
She got the feeling if someone said something to him that he didn’t like, he’d either laugh it off or toss the offending person through a wall. Why couldn’t she be that confident? That secure in herself?
She sat up straighter, trying to own who she was. The dress was beautiful anyway. Why should she have to change into something dull just because someone else might want her to?
When she was growing up, she had no choice in what clothes she wore. First, it was what her mother provided for her, the cheapest second hand things she could lay her hands on, the dullest itchiest underwear, bras that never fitted properly.
Then after her mom died, the number of things she owned went ever spiraling downward. If something got ripped, she had to repair it herself, getting laughed at in school for her poor quality sewing skills.
She was glad, in a way, when she was made to drop out. At least that meant the bullying stopped.
Was that why she was so nervous wearing such a beautiful dress?
She felt like an imposter, like someone more confident than her should be sitting there across from the enormous bulk of Slater in his leather jacket and indifferent manner.
He had his feet sticking out into the aisle from the booth, the only way he could hope to fit into the seat. He looked calm as anything, unlike how she felt.
She wasn’t just nervous about what she was wearing. She was nervous about what she’d just done. They had not long taken their seats before she excused herself and headed to the bathroom.
When she came back, she was excited, scared too. She looked at Slater, making sure he was watching her before deliberately sliding her fork to the edge of the table.
“Don’t,” he said, pointing a warning finger at her.
She let the fork fall to the floor. “What did I just tell you?” he said, anger flashing across his eyes. “Acting out doesn’t end well for you.”
“Would you pick it up?” she asked, batting her most innocent eyes at him.
“You dropped it. You get it.”
“Please,” she said, reaching across and squeezing his hand.
The food arrived, interrupting their conversation. The waitress who brought it glanced Beth’s way. “Love the dress,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Beth replied, grinning back at her. Maybe she didn’t look as strange as she felt. Maybe it was okay to dress like this in public.
“You need your fork,” Slater said as the waitress walked away.
“Please, Daddy,” she tried again. “Please get it for me.”
He looked at her, his eyes boring into her. Then he ducked under the table. Beth waited a second before spreading her knees apart, being rewarded by a thump as Slater’s head hit the underside of the table.
He emerged with the fork in his hand, wiping it clean on a napkin before handing it to her.
“When did you take your panties off?” he asked. “You naughty girl.”
“I thought it might make you happy,” she replied. “And show you I can be brave.”
“I know you can be brave. You’ve don’t need to prove anything to me.”
She started eating, smiling to herself. The reaction had been better than she’d expected.
Slater watched her as they ate, seemingly lost in thought. “What you thinking about?” she asked.
“That you’re going to need another plateful,” he said.
She looked down. She was done and he’d barely begun. “Hungry,” she said with a sheepish grin.
“I bet. When did you last have a proper meal?”
“Someone made me a decent mac and cheese not to long ago. I forget who it was.”
He ordered her the same again and she waited impatiently for it to arrive, feeling grateful for meeting Slater. He had taken her under his wing and he had no obligation to do so.
She’d just rocked up in his bar and begged for him to help. He’d done so without hesitation. Despite his demeanor, despite his lifestyle, he was a good man.
She ate slower with the second course, her mind going back to last night, to the night they’d spent together. Since it had happened, she’d thought about it several times.
She’d woken in the night and visited the bathroom, thinking of the way he’d made her use the potty, the way it felt natural instead of humiliating, like she was meant to do that for him.
She was finding it hard to keep track of the new emotions she was
experiencing, resolving late last night to try and go with things a little more, relax and enjoy herself while she could.
She got the feeling, despite his words to the contrary, that Slater was only using her to get into the club to deal with the bakery.
She couldn’t help but worry that once that was done, her usefulness would be gone. What would happen then? Best case was he’d send her on her way, worst case was she was one more loose end to dispose of.
Was it possible that he’d let her remain at his place? Still be her Daddy? No, that was asking too much. He’d already let her stay while she was in danger.
If the danger was gone, nothing was forcing the two of them together. At that point, she had a horrible feeling he’d push her away. The thought hurt.
She had taken a long time to get back to sleep once she’d started thinking that way. Doubts tended to do that, she found.
They remained hidden during the day, getting louder in the dark, sneaking out and suffocating you when you wanted to sleep, when the entire world was silent around you. That was when she always felt at her worst, late at night.
She lay there, still recovering from the things they’d done together, her mind filled with fear. Guilt too. She realized she had barely thought about Billy for hours. Her father too. They had both been forgotten in the exhilaration of what had happened between her and Slater.
She slept eventually, and when she woke up in the morning the doubts slunk away like vampires as the sun rose. Her thoughts were filled with happy memories of last night, of the things Slater had done to her.
She was no longer a virgin. V card was torn up and thrown away. And what a first time it had been. The memories would stay with her forever. She knew no one else could ever live up to them.
Was that when she’d started to fall in love with him? Or was it before then?
Either way, she had ridden to the diner with her eyes closed, holding onto him as if her life depended on it, which in many ways, it did.
As they finished their breakfast, doubts began to creep back in. He didn’t love her, of course. That was obvious. Could a man like that love anyone?
He expressed so little with his face it was hard to read him but she managed, sometimes. At that moment she could tell he was thinking about something, there was a distant expression in his eyes as he sipped at his coffee.