Crash: Ruthless Bastards (RBMC Book 9)

by Chelsea Handcock

  “Asshole, messed with my bike,” the rude man said through gritted teeth, then threw, of all things, a My Little Pony stuffed bean bag at the man lying on the ground. Who apparently didn’t mind the split lip he was sporting because he just started laughing. The President, or Tuck or Mr. Masterson smiled, said, “Carry on,” then turned back to Braya and jerked his head and started walking toward a hallway, expecting Braya to follow. She did, but she couldn’t help looking back to the jerk and the guy on the floor who wasn’t laughing anymore because the rude jerk was on him again. Braya quickened her pace following after the president, not wanting anything more to do with the people in that bar.

  The president went into an office at the end of the hall, leaving the door open, and moved behind a large desk piled high with papers. Braya wondered if he was even taking any of this seriously. She had spoken to him on the phone, and he had seemed genuinely concerned, but now, he had an aloofness about him that was pissing her off. Not waiting or asking, Braya closed the door to the office and sat down at one of the two very uncomfortable-looking chairs in front of his desk and immediately started in.

  “As I told you on the phone, my name is Braya Collins, my sister is Kayla Stewart.” She was nervous and talking a mile a minute, but at least now, the man was looking at her although he was leaning back in the chair, staring now like he was sizing her up which made Braya even more uncomfortable. So, what did she do? She continued to ramble faster.

  “We have a system, she calls me every Friday. Last Friday, she didn’t call. I didn’t panic at first because life sometimes happens, you know?” When he didn’t say anything, she just went on, “I tried to call her, but I didn’t get an answer. I received a text message from her on Sunday morning that all was good, she was just busy. But this last Friday, again, no phone call.”

  “As you said, Ms. Collins, things happen. She texted, I don’t understand what has you so concerned.”

  “See, that’s what you don’t understand. If you know Kayla, you would know she doesn’t use text... ever. She doesn’t believe in it, thinks it’s the downfall of society because a text is not personal.” The president continued to look at her like she was a little nuts, maybe a bit of an annoyance, but certainly a waste of time. “Like I said, we have a system. She calls me every Friday, she hasn’t called for two, and two days ago, I received these.” Braya handed over the letters Kayla had addressed to her, along with another one.

  The man started reading them, but since Braya was on edge, she blurted out, “What do I call you?”

  “Huh?” The man looked at her confused, the letter still held in his hand.

  “What do I call you? Tuck, Tucker, Mr. Masterson, Mr. President?” For the first time, the man smiled. He might be intimidating, but he was handsome, and the smile softened him. Well, not precisely, just made him a little less daunting... well, maybe. Damn, Braya needed to get a grip.

  “You can call me Tuck. I think Marilyn did the whole Mr. President thing, let’s let her keep it, okay?” Braya smiled back at him and nodded for once, not blurting anything out. Hey, she was taking that as progress.

  Tuck picked up his phone and in a clipped tone, said, “My office, now.”

  Braya’s silence lasted all of two seconds when the rude jerk from before came into the room.

  “Him? Why is his here?”

  “Braya Collins, please meet Ryker Sinclair,” Tuck said, not moving from behind his desk,

  Fuck me! Braya wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or just thought it, but she was pretty sure she had when the asshole said, “Offered, you turned me down,” complete with the look from before on his face, like he wouldn’t use her to wipe his ass let alone fuck her.

  “Asshole.” This time she purposely said it out loud, but the word had no effect on the man. She was pretty sure he heard it often, probably daily.

  Tuck handed Ryker, aka asshole of the day, the letter Kayla had sent her addressed to him. As he stood there and read it, Braya watched him. She didn’t have a clue what the letter said. She knew what hers said and had drawn some conclusions. But nothing was certain, at least she was hoping nothing was certain.

  Ryker finished reading, folded up the letter, and put it in a pocket inside his vest, and looked at Tuck.

  “I’ll take care of it. It will take me a couple days, minimum.” Then he went to walk out of the room. Nothing else, that was it. He read it, said he would handle it, and started to step out of the room. Braya wanted to know what was in his letter. She was worried about her sister, and supposedly, these people were going to help her find out, but apparently, asshole, otherwise known as, Ryker Sinclair, had other plans. Probably on the sex club side of the room. Braya opened her mouth, but before a single sound came out, Tuck growled.

  “Sit your ass down, Crash, it isn’t as simple as that.”

  Chapter Four

  Crash wasn’t happy with this situation at all. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he would take care of it. His letter from Kayla had been simple—’I’m in trouble and I need help,’ with a few other things mixed in. Like the fact she had been looking into how she had been taken all those years ago, and she found a link to the Perez Cartel and her father. Stupid, foolish woman. Kayla was a good person down to her core, but she wasn’t by any means equipped or skilled enough to deal with the dredges of society like Miguel Perez.

  Crash had already been running scenarios through his head when Tuck stopped him from leaving the office and that damned woman behind. He didn’t have a clue who she was and didn’t really care. Rolling his own eyes at that thought, Crash had to admit that wasn’t precisely true. For some reason, he cared a little, or at least his dick did. She was a cute little thing. All dark hair, bright violet-blue eyes and about as out of place in the RBMC clubhouse on a Saturday night—dressed in yoga pants and sweatshirt—as a rabbit that happened upon a wolf pack. There was something about her that tripped his trigger though.

  The package was cute, pretty even, but he was around gorgeous women all the time, and none of them provoked this kind of response in him. He wanted fuck her, that was a given, but he also wanted to be around her, protect her, which was not in his nature. Crash vaguely remembered the freaked out, awed look on her face when he came into the club house, but he had been too intent on kicking Brass’s ass for putting that girly kid shit on his machine. No one touched his bike. Brass liked to push it with the other guys, but lately, Crash seemed to be his target for all his foolish games. Unlike the others, he didn’t blow it off or laugh about it, he confronted the man, fist first. That had to be it, he was reacting to her fear. The other shit was normal attraction.

  Tuck, said louder, “Sit your ass down!”

  Crash sat at Tuck’s demand like a good dog. Fuck, this shit wasn’t cool. His mind has been all over the place since Kayla and he had that fucking conversation weeks ago. He was contemplating every emotion he felt. When she left, it only got worse. He wasn’t the type of man to contemplate life, but her words had struck a nerve with him, making him think about that shit. He needed to just let that crap go and concentrate on the here and now. Examine all the facts and just go from there. Kayla was a friend, and she’d asked for his help. Simple fix. Crash was ready, willing, and able to provide that help. Fucking emotions. He learned a long time ago to keep your friends and family close. It had almost become an obsession to him, an impulse he couldn’t control. Damn it! The fucking emotions kept on coming.

  Crash needed to watch over the people he cared about, and Kayla moving away had fucked that up. Now, reading the fucking letter, he was even more pissed. Hadn’t she learned her lesson the first time? Shaking his head, he knew the line of his thoughts weren’t going to a good place. Kayla wasn’t to blame for a bunch of fucked-up bikers snatching her, gang raping her repeatedly, and overall fucking her up for life. But as shitty as it was, he still felt she should have learned some tough lessons and taken some caution. By the looks of it, she hadn’t.

  For years, Kayla
had done just that—led a quiet life, working and helping people. He knew because not only were they friends now, but before that, he had watched out for her. Pulled strings to make sure she was protected. But he had gotten lazy and released his grip because some of the things she had said to him pissed him off. Now, he didn’t even know where to begin to find her and get her back where he could keep an eye on her and keep her safe.

  Tuck started talking and with each word, Crash got more and more irritated.

  “Kayla apparently had a plan and a backup in case that plan went wrong. Ms. Collins, can you expand on this, so we are all up to date.”

  The woman, Ms. Collins, didn’t look at him, focusing on Tuck, which for some reason, tweaked his temper. She was talking a mile a minute about Kayla, something about their weekly talks, but it was all nonsense as far as Crash was concerned, and it wasn’t getting them anywhere.

  “Who the fuck are you, and why are you even involved in this?” he asked, without even thinking.

  The woman looked at him like he was a can or two short of a six-pack.

  “Kayla, is my sister.”

  A million things went through his mind. He’d known and watched over Kayla for years and never once had she talked about or even mentioned a sister. Fuck, there was a file on Kayla Stewart sitting in the back office that was at least an inch thick. He had read it thoroughly, and there was no sister. Kayla was an only child.

  Suspicion building in his brain, he glared at the woman. This was bullshit. Either he and Tuck were being taken for a ride, and this woman somehow worked for the Cartel or hell, he didn’t even know. What he did know was he didn’t trust her. She was an outsider, claiming to be family. That shit didn’t fly with him, so he called her out.

  “If you’re her sister, where the hell were you when she was raped and almost beaten to death? I don’t recall ever once seeing you in her hospital room or hell, Kayla even mentioning you existed.” He looked at Tuck. “Your woman and Kayla were close, did she ever mention a ‘sister,'" Crash questioned.

  Tuck’s expression didn’t change, neither did his posture; he looked calm as fuck. Crash knew from experience, the man was always on guard.

  “When Ms. Collins contacted me, I looked into her story, or at least, what she told me over the phone. To answer your question, Kate wasn’t informed or aware Kayla had a sister.” Crash nodded his head. He was done and started to get up again, but Tuck’s words stopped him once again.

  “But I did some digging, and her story checks out. She and Kayla are step-sisters. Phone records do indicate they have kept in contact weekly, just as Ms. Collins has stated.”

  Well fuck, Crash thought.

  “You checked my phone records?” he heard the woman gasp and sputter,

  “Ma’am, we had to be sure your story checked out. I’m still drawing conclusions, but our investigation proved enough to get you through the door. This letter,” Tuck said, holding up another letter Crash hadn’t seen and wanted to fucking read, “helped confirm your story, but I think it’s best you start over from the beginning and fill in all the blanks. As you can tell, my brother here has some doubts.”

  Doubts? Fuck that, Crash had major alarms blaring in his head.

  “First, since you’re obviously questioning my ability to be honest and my integrity, why don’t you call me Braya. The formality of Ms. Collins or Ma’am is just about as condescending as this asshole’s general attitude.”

  The cute woman cocked her head to the side, indicating Crash, and he couldn’t help but smile. If this was a different time or place he might have even liked it, but right now he had questions, a lot of them.

  “Okay, Braya” Tuck said, drawing out her name “I think it’s best if you start from the beginning, so we’re all on the same page.”

  Braya, damn he liked her name. It was unusual and unique, just like the woman. When she sat back in her seat, scowling, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive measure if Crash had ever seen one. Her body was tense, and he could practically feel the anger thicken the tension in the room. Crash could feel his lips wanting to curve up into a smile but prevented it from happening. In a situation like this, it was best to remain impassive.

  “No, actually, why don’t we cut the crap? You’ve obviously checked me out, and I think if you have the ability to check my phone records for ‘years,’ as you put it, you also the ability to verify my ‘story,’ as you have said.”

  Crash grudgingly had to give the chick some credit, she didn’t back down. Crash had seen grown men who couldn’t stare Tuck down. Hell, he had seen men cry like babies when Tuck’s full attention was on them. Damn, she had a backbone of steel, and he respected the hell out of that shit. She could put on a good front, stand her ground.

  But there were a few little tells she wasn’t as hard as she trying to portray—like the white-knuckled grip she had on her elbows or the stress wrinkles around her bloodshot eyes. He also noticed she was holding herself very still, and he doubted this woman was ever still for long. He wasn’t sure, but Crash had always been good at reading people. He would bet his last dollar, Braya Collins was a bit hyperactive, always on the move, flitting around from thing to thing. It was a guess, but again, he was hardly ever wrong about these things.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what I found out, then you can fill in the blanks. After that, we’ll discuss this letter,” Tuck said, holding up the letter again.

  “Mind if I read that? It seems I’m a few steps behind in this conversation.” Crash didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm or anger out of his voice. Tuck knew how to deal with him, and at the moment, he wasn’t the least bit worried about pricking Braya’s temper. As a matter of fact, he wanted to see what she would do. Tuck, the fucker, obviously had other plans.

  “in a minute,” his president said after putting the letter face down on his desk.

  Bastard. He might be the president of their club and a man Crash respected and considered a brother, but he was also like the old women down at the diner, always ready for gossip and drama. Crash was rarely the center of his attention, and now, he realized how grateful he was for that because this whole situation sucked. He had shit to do, specifically save Kayla’s ass from herself, put her somewhere safe and move the fuck on.

  “Braya?” Tuck said, staring at her, not saying anything else.

  Crash noticed her fidget a bit under Tuck’s scrutiny, and for a half a second, he wanted to punch his president in the face, for some unknown reason. He quickly shoved that feeling and thought aside. This emotion shit was bullshit. The next time he talked to Kayla, he was going to give her shit for planting the fucking seed in his head that shouldn’t be there, and maybe then, he could get back to fucking normal.

  “Fine,” Braya said throwing her hands up. “Kayla and I are step-sisters as you said. Our parents were married for just over ten years, from the time we were little girls until our early teens.” She turned those violet eyes on him, that somehow now seemed to spark with a blue fire and continued. “We lost touch for several years because of our parent’s divorce. My mother took me overseas to live and forbade any contact with Kayla or my stepfather. I didn’t question twice, and it wasn’t like I had a choice, I was a fucking kid at the time. But...” she paused glaring at him and said, “I did send letters to Kayla, and when I got my first cellphone, I tried to contact her. It wasn’t until I came back to the states, I found out what had happened to her. Otherwise,” she sneered at him, “I would have been there for her in the hospital as she recovered from what those fuckers had done to her."

  Crash had to admit, he liked hearing Braya cuss. He heard the word shit every day, but coming from her mouth, with the way she looked all prim, proper and defiant turned him on. A part of him wanted to see how dirty he could get her to talk to him. Preferably, while he was fucking her against the nearest available surface. Maybe then, he could get some perspective.

  Braya gave him an odd look as if she knew what he was thinking but turned away.


  “Thankfully, my sister understood that and forgave me. We don’t see each other often, purposely. We also don’t talk about each other to anyone we don’t trust empirically, but we do keep in contact with the weekly calls as I have said multiple times now, and you have verified,” Braya snarked.

  “Why? It doesn’t make any sense to keep you a secret. Who the fuck would even care?” Crash asked, but Braya ignored him, continuing to speak as if he hadn’t asked a question.

  “It’s a pact we made to each other. That way, if either one of us were in trouble, the other would know and would be able to figure out a way to help.”

  Crash didn’t like that statement at all. Kayla, he kind of understood. She suffered endlessly because of what happened to her at the hands of those bikers. The fear she lived with daily so overwhelming, she needed to get a service dog to help deal. But Braya, why was she included in that, why would she be in trouble? Crash found he wanted the answer to that question more than he wanted to read the damn letter sitting on Tuck’s desk. Again, Crash didn’t have to repeat his earlier statement because Tuck beat him to it.

  “That doesn’t make much sense, Braya. Why would you hide each other from friends and family? Why is the only record of contact that I or my team can find a weekly phone call and this letter? You showing up here has caused suspicion, I’m sure you can understand that. Kayla has become close to the RBMC and its members, but you are an unknown, and we don’t take things at face value. Not even letters supposedly written by a trusted friend.”

  “Listen, I don’t think you’ll understand. Hell, Kay and I don’t understand most of the time, we’re just a product of the situation ourselves. But to make a long story short, our parents married for political and power reasons, not love or attraction. They stayed together until the two of them got what they wanted out of the relationship and moved on. They are connected, you could say, and although Kay and I stayed out of the family business, it still affected us. We kept our relationship on the down low, simply because we didn’t want to be used for their purposes.”