by Lilly Atlas
His beard still bore hints of how much she’d wanted him. “So you like it rough, huh?”
Her face heated. “Apparently so.”
He stood and drew her into his arms. “That’s good, babe because I have a feeling I’m going to lose control around you for the next forty years or so.”
Tears flooded her eyes. What a lovely picture he painted. Him still craving her well into their golden years. The sweetness of the image blurred into a wave of guilt and shame. Shell had a choice on the horizon. Tell him her secrets or leave Townsend. Either decision would kill any affection he might feel for her.
She tightened her arms around him as despair threatened to ruin the moment. It couldn’t happen. These magical moments would be gone soon enough. The bleak future couldn’t be allowed to ruin her present perfection.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
COPPER FISHED A Cuban cigar out of its hiding spot in the lower drawer of his desk. Running it under his nose, he inhaled the pungent aroma and immediately experienced the calming effect he always achieved when he smoked. Shell wasn’t a fan of the cigarettes, and now that he was more addicted to her mouth than the nicotine, he figured he’d better kick the habit. But, she’d admitted last week when they were relaxing on the tiny patio in her backyard during an unusually warm afternoon, she didn’t mind the lingering scent of cigar smoke on him. In fact, her words had been something like sexy and manly.
That was a green light as far as he was concerned, and hopefully, the occasional cigar would make the transition to no cigarettes more bearable. Just as he was about to light the sucker, a heavy fist pounded on his closed office door.
Fuck.
He stowed the cigar. For some reason, he preferred it to be a solo activity. Always had. Probably because it allowed himself a rare few moments to be still and process. Though he had to admit he enjoyed his stogie just as much when Shell was on his lap relaxing with him as they’d done last week.
“Come on in,” he said.
The door opened and Zach’s blond head popped through the crack. “Got a minute, Prez?”
He waved Zach in. “Yeah, brother. Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” Zach strode in dressed in workout clothes and his cut, probably fresh off his job as owner of a local gym. One of the MC’s more profitable businesses, Copper never regretted fronting club money to start Zach’s dream up about seven years ago.
Zach planted himself in one of the two empty chairs opposite Copper. Sniffing he asked, “You sneaking cigars in here without me?”
Busted. Zach appreciated a good cigar just as much as Copper did. What the hell. He could share with his enforcer. Copper laughed. “Just about to before your bumbling fist knocked on my door.”
There wasn’t an ounce of apology in Zach’s smirk. “Wasn’t it you giving Beth a lecture a few days ago about sharing her toys?”
With a roll of his eyes, Copper snorted then dug out two cigars. “Yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up.” He rolled one across the desk to Zach who snatched it up and immediately smelled the stogie.
“Damn, Cop. That’s nice shit.”
Copper raised an eyebrow. “Now you know why I don’t like to share.”
The laugh that left Zach was infectious. “See your point. And I’ll consider myself loved.”
They wasted a few moments lighting the cigars and puffing in silence before Copper ended the quiet. “How’s Rusty working out?”
Zach flipped his cigar, staring at the tip for a second before he lowered the smoldering stick. He leveled Copper with a look that had his stomach twisting.
“Shit. That bad?” There went the tension-reducing effects of one of his favorite activities. “What? He not showing up for shifts or something?” Copper inclined forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
Zach shook his head and leaned back, propping an ankle on his knee. His mouth formed an O right before a perfect ring of smoke floated into the room. Clearly, Zach wasn’t stressed by Rusty’s behavior. “Nah, it’s not that bad. Well, he missed one shift and was two hours late for another, so that shit’s not ideal.” He cocked his head. “It’s more an attitude thing, to be honest. He’s short-tempered as fuck. Aggressive with my customers. To be honest, Cop, and I say this with all due respect, he’s just been a dick since he’s been out.”
Well, fuck. That wasn’t what Copper wanted to hear. He needed to check in more with Rusty. Spend some quality time with his brother and help ease the transition back to real life. Since the night of the welcome home party over a week ago, Copper had spent nearly all his spare time with Shell and Beth. It was fucking fantastic, but didn’t do his blood brother any favors.
“I’ll have a chat with him.” Soon as he was done with Zach, he’d give Rust a call. Shell had the night off from her second job and had scheduled dinner at her mom’s for her and Beth weeks ago. Since she wasn’t masochistic enough to bring Copper along, he’d planned to catch up on some club shit, but now he could devote the night to hanging with Rusty.
“Appreciate it, Prez.” Zach’s demeanor grew serious. “Not why I busted in on you, though.”
“What’s going on?” Copper asked as he puffed on his cigar, watching the tufts of smoke rise from the tip. At Zach’s heavy sigh, he shifted his focus to his enforcer. “Shit. Don’t like the sound of that.”
“And you shouldn’t.” Zach dropped his foot and sat straight in his chair. “We got a problem. Least I think we do. Beginning of a problem, maybe.”
“Spit it the fuck out, Zach.”
With a grunt, Zach pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it onto Copper’s desk. The small baggie slid across the desk, coming to a stop directly under Copper’s gaze. “Fuck.”
“Yep.”
Lifting the clear bag, Copper inspected the product that looked exactly like its namesake. Small white crystals. “Meth,” he said more to himself than to Zach.
“Some Walter fucking White shit right there.”
“The fuck you get it?”
Zach snubbed out the last of his cigar in a skull ashtray on the desk. “Screw copped it off some shitheel who owed him. Guy couldn’t pay his debt so he offered that shit to Screw instead.”
“And Screw accepted it as payment?” He’d strip that fucker’s shiny new patch in a heartbeat.
Zach laughed. “What the fuck kinda operation you think I’m running, Prez? Fuck no, he didn’t accept it. He pocketed the meth, busted a kneecap, and told the guy he’d be back in a week for payment in full.”
Huh. Not bad. Screw was one of the newer young patches, being groomed to function as Zach’s second in command. At first, Copper had been skeptical when Zach wanted to take Screw under his wing. He wasn’t nicknamed Screwball for nothing, but he’d taken the job seriously and was stepping up to the plate in ways Copper hadn’t expected.
He’d be sure to mention it to the kid later.
“Ragnar?” Copper asked.
Zach ran a hand through his always perfect hair. “That’d be my guess. Guy Screw lifted his from said there’s been a huge surge in meth dealers over the last month. That shit is getting easier to buy than fucking ice cream.”
Leaning back in his chair, Copper stroked his chin. Yeah, he knew he did it whenever he was deep in thought. Just a fucking reflex that made him a shit poker player. By the time he realized what he was doing, every damn player was on to the fact he had a shit hand and was deciding to bail or not. Only good thing to come of his men learning his tell was that they gave him a wide berth and allowed him to string his thoughts together when they noticed it.
And Zach remained silent, permitting just that.
Ragnar was Joe’s boss. As in Joe, the motherfucker knocking on Shell’s door each month. Thing of it was, they weren’t based out of Tennessee. Which meant they’d need someone local running the operation. So who the fuck was it?
Copper’s hand stilled, and he looked Zach in the eye.
As though reading his mind, Zach nodded. “Yeah, Cop. I’m tracking the s
ame way.”
“Lefty.”
“Gotta be. No one else stupid enough to push meth through our town.”
“Christ, this guy’s been nothing but a fucking thorn in my ass for too damn long.”
Zach’s eyes narrowed. He might look like a pretty boy gym rat, but he was fucking lethal when necessary. “Shoulda known when he went into hiding after we dismantled his trafficking operation that it wasn’t the end of him. Guy’s got a serious death wish if he’s fucking around on our turf again.”
Copper jammed his cigar into the ashtray. Just when the waters were finally calm and the clouds were white and puffy. “We need—”
“Cop?” Jigsaw called out as he rapped on the door.
“Jesus, what the fuck now?” Copper mumbled as Zach snickered. “Come on in, Jig.”
The door flung open, and a grim-faced Jigsaw stormed into the office. “We got a big fucking problem, Prez.” It was then he turned and noticed Zach. “Glad you’re here, Z, this concerns you too.”
Great. This day was shaping up to be a toilet full of shit. And he couldn’t even end it by sinking into Shell’s slick heat. No, he’d be capping the day off sipping beers with his fucked-up brother.
Perfect.
“Sit your ass down, Jig. What’s going on?”
Jig tossed an envelope on the desk. As club’s treasurer, he handled all the money collected from client’s debts. Most of the men took a turn doing a run to collect cash. If someone couldn’t pay Screw or Zach were called in, but most of the time that wasn’t necessary. The money was turned over to Jig who counted and logged it then stored it in a safe in Copper’s office.
Copper picked up the yellow package. “What is this? Looks like a regular deposit to me.”
Shaking his head, Jig said. “It’s fucking short. Second week in a row. Thought last week was an anomaly so I let it slide. Two though?” He lifted his hands. “Now it’s a pattern.”
Goddamn, could this day get any more fucked? “How much?”
“Five G’s both weeks.”
“Jesus,” Zach burst out. “You saying someone took it from your office?”
Jig’s expression grew thoughtful. “Not sure, to be honest. The guys drop their money right into the envelope. Got a clipboard with the amount to be collected and by whom. When they hand over the money, they write how much was collected. If money is owed, they star it, and I pass it along to you, Z.” Jig had been wearing his beard thicker over the past month, and it almost completely disguised the puzzle-piece shaped scar that covered most of his right cheek. “One of two things is happening. Either one of our guys is lying about the amount they’re dropping off, or someone went into my office and helped themselves to some cash.”
Who the fuck would be so stupid as to steal from the MC? The betrayal was grounds for having one’s patch stripped, which was a big fucking deal. “You talk to all the guys who did the pick-ups the last two weeks?”
Head nodding up and down, Jig said, “Yep, each swears they were accurate in their count and would die before stealing from the club. Not sure what to believe, Cop. This has me fucking baffled.”
Copper looked from Jig to Zach. “Either of you hear any chatter ’bout anyone in trouble? Short on cash? Fuckin’ ex-wife looking for more? Anyone using?”
Both men shook their heads in tandem. “No,” Jig said at the same time Zach said, “Not a goddamn peep.”
“All right,” Copper said. Fuck, he did not need this right now. “Jig, next week have the guys hand money to you directly. Count it in their presence and keep the cash on you or in the safe at all times. Get with Mav and have him install a camera in your office. Keep it fuckin’ quiet though. Don’t want to tip the traitor off.”
“I’m fucking sorry about this, Cop,” Jig said, averting his eyes. “We don’t figure this out soon, you can take it outta my cut.”
Copper waved his hand. “Fuck that, brother. Ain’t your fault. Never needed to police this shit before. Always been on the honor system. For years.” He rested his head back on the top of his chair and stared at the cracked ceiling. Killed him that someone, one of his own, would steal from the club he’d die for. “So we’ve got a thief in our house and meth in our town.” As he spoke the words aloud, anger began to creep up his spine. His family had been fending off attack after attack for the past year. Now, to know the threat came from inside their ranks?
That was a fucking betrayal like no other.
“What?” Jigsaw said. “Meth?”
Copper didn’t bother to move. “Zach will fill you in. Get the fuck out, you two. Need some time to think about this shit. Spread the word, next fucker who knocks on my door leaves without his teeth.”
Both men stood. “I’m here all afternoon, Prez. Shout if you need me,” Jig said.
“Thanks. Keep this shit about the meth quiet for now but let the guys know we got church tonight at eight.” So much for his night of hanging with Rusty. Maybe they could grab a few cold ones after the meeting.
“You got it, Prez.” Zach knocked his knuckles against the desk then the two men disappeared leaving Copper to his thoughts.
Sometimes, the heavy weight of running the club grew burdensome. For Copper, falling into the position of president after Sarge’s murder was natural. He’d always been a leader. Always in control, running the show, giving the orders. But that also meant bearing the responsibility of his and his men’s actions.
Some of the guys might not agree with him, but he felt everything the club did was ultimately his responsibility. He felt the elation of each triumph and the stabbing pain of each failure. And this year, there’d been one too many failures.
The biggest being letting the scum of the earth, Lefty, survive. Just a few short months ago, Copper had sat across the table from Lefty in an attempt at a truce. He hadn’t wanted to drag his club through a messy war that would potentially cost lives.
His greatest regret was letting Lefty live that day. How easy would it have been to plug the asshole between the eyes? Too easy. And now, the club was still paying for that poor decision.
Teenage girls had been kidnapped and raped. Another young woman had been raped and beaten severely. Stephanie was almost kidnapped. Izzy was attacked. And now meth was circulating his fucking town. All things that could have been avoided had he lodged some lead in Lefty’s cranium.
It stops today.
Every resource at the club’s disposal would go toward finding and eliminating Lefty.
Right after he cut the head off the snake in his own house.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“MOM? WE’RE HERE.” Shell held her wriggling daughter on one hip while pushing the door open.
“Put me down,” Beth whined as she practically dove from Shell’s arms.
“Whoa, girl, careful. Don’t want to drop you. You are seriously heavy.”
Beth giggled and shot off toward her grandmother as Cindy’s small frame appeared in the short hallway leading to the master bedroom. “Gramma!” Sometimes Shell was amazed at how young her mother still looked, but then she recalled her mom was actually young. She’d had Shell at nineteen so she was only in her early forties. Shell’s pops had been a decade older.
“Hey, Mom,” Shell said as she set down her suitcase-sized purse. “Brought some dessert.”
“How’s my Bethy-girl?” Cindy said, scooping Beth up and peppering her little face with kisses.
Beth squealed in delight and returned the affection.
As she waited to be acknowledged, Shell pulled the box of donuts she’d purchased from a local bakery out of her purse. After another thirty seconds of being ignored, she rolled her eyes and said, “Want these in the kitchen?”
Once again, not even so much as a glance from her mother. Shell was used to it. Cindy hated the MC with a fiery passion. Blamed them for her husband’s death. What she’d never come to realize, or never been willing to admit, was that her husband’s own actions were the reason for his death. He’d been coloring t
oo far outside the lines and without the knowledge or backing of the club. Not that his death was justified or deserved in any way shape or form, but it wasn’t the fault of the club. Even if it had been, her mother had known what she was signing on for when she married Sarge. Hell, her mom grew up in an MC in California. One that was much bloodier and grittier than the Handlers.
But after Sarge was killed, her mom cut off all ties with the MC. Refused any financial help, got pissy and huffy anytime they were mentioned and rode Shell hard for continuing her association with them. Especially after Beth was born. Her mom was convinced Beth was Copper’s daughter. The product of some drunken night of passion Shell wouldn’t ’fess up to. Made her hate the MC even more.
If she only knew…
Thing of it was, even if Shell hadn’t been in love with the club’s president since she was a kid, she’d still want to be involved with the club. They were her family. The only family she knew, and not only did she want them in her life, she needed them. The whole rough, tough, gruff gang of ’em. That had become obvious when she’d lived out of state and was miserable for five years.
Shell frowned as her mom turned and walked into the kitchen with Beth in her arms. Usually, she wasn’t this standoffish. Sure, she and Shell were far from besties, but she wasn’t completely ignored in her mother’s house. “Mom?” Shell asked following them. “Everything all right?”
Her mother turned and set Beth down. After pulling a cookie from a sheet cooling on the stove, she said to Beth, “Here, sweetie. Why don’t you go in Grandma’s room and eat that cookie?” She winked. “There might be a surprise for you on my bed.”
Beth’s eyes lit like little Christmas trees. “Yay!” she shouted, pumping her cookie-filled fist in the air as she ran through the matchbook-sized apartment to her grandmother’s bedroom.
Once Beth was out of earshot, Cindy turned to Shell. They shared the same curly blonde hair, but Cindy kept hers waist length. Any trace of playfulness or sweetness she’d bestowed on Beth was absent in her gaze now.