by Kane Daemon
I went through the back door and headed straight to the bathroom, where I took a quick shower. Yeah, a shower. I couldn’t walk around looking like I’d been in a fight, and those assholes at the border surely wouldn’t let me through.
The code was pretty simple in the club. Do some shit like I did, and a simple death would be too sweet. No, it would get downright ugly like one has never seen before. I figured Bain would want my ears or balls as a souvenir. Either way, I was screwed.
After the shower, I packed a small bag, grabbed the cash from the lunch box, and backed my bike out of the garage. A set of headlights stopped me cold.
“Hey, baby.” Her voice matched her age. Precisely twenty years old.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I said. “Back your fucking car up and get the hell out of my driveway.”
“You’re the one who scheduled me.”
What the fuck was I doing scheduling pussy at six in the morning? “Come back this evening, and I’ll give you what you came for.”
“You still owe me for last time, asshole,” she said.
I got off my bike, ready to knock her into next week when I noticed one of my neighbors watching us. “What do you need?” I asked with a smile.
She flipped her hair and waved at the guy in her passenger seat. Fucking meth heads. “An ounce should get it.”
“Come on and hurry it up.” I led her inside, and if I had my belt with me, I would have rung her up right then. She was a beautiful piece of ass, but her tits were way too small. I’d suggested a boob job, but she said hell no. Her parents would be pissed. Yeah, because I’m sure they were okay with all the fucking tattoos.
I hit the stash in the freezer beneath the ice cubes and handed her a little less than an ounce. She wouldn’t know the difference.
“Now get the fuck out of here.” What the fuck people were doing up at this hour was beyond me. Whatever happened to sleeping in when you were unemployed?
“No need to be a prick,” she said.
As we walked through the house, I heard the roar of a single bike.
I moved behind the little bitch and pulled my Glock.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
“Get the fuck out, but very slowly.”
When we got to the front door, I saw Trucker getting off his bike. He looked at me and saw the gun. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. What the fuck was he doing up?
“Go,” I whispered to the girl and slid the Glock back into my waistband.
Trucker passed the car, eyeing the guy inside. He glared at the girl and continued up the driveway. “The fuck is going on?”
“Pussy with an attitude.” I started to draw the Glock again, but Trucker didn’t appear to be there to kick my ass.
“Time for a beer? We need to talk about club business.”
I couldn’t say no, but I also couldn’t hang around much longer. “It’s not even time for breakfast,” I said.
“I’ll pour it in a bowl of cereal.”
“Come on in.”
We sat at the kitchen table and opened two cold ones. Trucker looked over his beer at me as he drank. I couldn’t read the man for shit. “What do you think about these murders? You don’t believe it’s an inside job, do you?”
I drank slowly and eyed my watch. I had probably forty-five minutes. “I think Zane is full of shit. We probably pissed off one of the local businesses, and one of them had taken things into their own hands. We just need to figure out which. When we do, the club does what the club is best at.”
Trucker shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. They gotta know there’d be retribution if they tried some bullshit like that.” He took a long drink. “I’m betting on Zane’s hunch.”
“Could be,” I said, doing my best to stay calm. Zane was going to haunt me to the grave.
Trucker shook his head. “Any guesses?”
“Not really. It could be a Prospect. One that’s pissed off he’s not been accepted yet.”
Trucker glanced at his watch. “I was on my way to pick up a gun from Taco. Thought I’d see what you thought.” He finished off his beer and stood. I walked him out to his bike and clapped him on the back before watching him get on his bike and ride off. It was probably the first time in my life I wanted to piss myself.
With Trucker gone, I went back to my bike and got the hell away from the house I would never see again. Sometimes it was just better to be lucky than right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Zane
I grabbed the remote on the nightstand and switched the bedroom walls to clear glass, revealing the sun on the edge of the horizon in the east. The red letters of the clock let me know I’d overslept. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept till six in the morning. I’d already lost an hour in the day. An hour I should have been using to find Amanda’s Killer.
I turned the other direction and found the bed empty, the smell of coffee weak but in the air. If there had been the smell of bacon and eggs, I would have thought Carrie the perfect of the most perfect women. But she was probably waiting for me to make oatmeal. She even joked about buying me vitamins and a good probiotic. I think she really didn’t mind our age difference, and we both had fun with it. It helped that I could still fuck like I was twenty and could break a man in half. I knew she liked the muscles and knew she enjoyed watching my ass walk naked around the house.
The clock switched over to six-zero-one, and I sat up, preparing for a day they just might send us all to hell. I needed to find the son of a bitch who was killing women. I couldn't let the club take the hit Bain was dying to give. And I certainly couldn’t let anyone hurt Carrie.
I listened for movement around the house but heard nothing. I sat up to look around and saw a coffee mug that sat on the table by the pool. No steam rose from the cup. Panic roiled in my stomach, and I struggled to keep it down. Maybe she was in the garage or out front watching the sunrise. Or perhaps she was in the kitchen working on a bowl of oatmeal. But I knew none of those things were true. I felt it in my gut. Once again, I’d not protected the woman I loved.
Loved. Yeah, it had come to that. Everything about her was something to love. I stood and pulled on a pair of shorts, walking barefoot through the house and into the kitchen. The coffee pot had shut itself off, and the coffee inside was cold. I went outside to the pool and felt the cup. Cold as well. How? Not even a scream.
The gate was left open, and I followed the path alongside the house to the front drive. Footprints in the dirt beside the driveway said all that needed to be said. The killer had snuck into my own backyard and once again stole something I held dear. The boot prints were biker boots, too small to be mine. Whoever had taken her had little dick for sure.
Standing naked in my front yard, I flexed as hard as I could and yelled. “You mother fucker!”
I stormed around the side of the house and entered the back, taking the coffee cup from the table and smashing it against the wall. Still not satisfied, I picked the table up and threw it across the pool, smashing it against the far wall. I yelled again, and again, my rage grew. I wanted the man. I wanted to fucking kill the son of a bitch. I wouldn’t wait for Bain. I wouldn’t wait for anyone.
In the house, I called the club and waited. Snyder picked up on the ninth ring.
“Tell me Carrie’s down there,” I said loudly. If Snyder had started to ease up on his dislike for me, I gave him a reason to dislike me even more.
“Why the hell would she be here if you’re not, Zane?” I could tell Snyder had the phone in the crook of his neck since his voice was muffled. He was also cleaning glasses. The man didn’t give two shits about Carrie or me. For him, you better believe he would be okay with Carrie being next on the killer’s list.
“Is Bono around?” I asked, ready to throw the phone through the glass. I felt my adrenaline rising, knowing I had to keep myself under control. When I wasn’t under control, people died.
“Not that I know of. Why don’t you c
ome down here yourself and check?” Snyder said. He was making things more complicated than they should be. I wasn’t in the mood for him being a smartass.
I started to yell and cuss at the man but then decided to take another angle with him. I brought my anger down a few notches and cleared my throat. “Could you please check around the club and see if maybe he’s in one of the rooms or the security office?” I wanted to say in the security office erasing another set of security video.
“Fuck, Zane, give me a minute.” I heard the phone hit the counter, and I began pacing around the room. What if he had her? What if she was already dead?
I pushed the evil thoughts from my mind and tried to think of something positive. Maybe we could take a little trip up to the canyon when this was over. I knew some people who could get us on a rafting trip, one of those deals where most people had to reserve years in advance. Or maybe we could hang out in Flagstaff. Even Las Vegas sounded good right then. Though, I’d been asked not to come back after taking one of the casinos for a million and a half a couple of years ago at one of the poker tables.
“Zane, what’s going on?” Sadie asked.
“Where the fuck did Snyder go?”
“He’s checking the other building for Bono. What happened to Carrie?” Sadie’s voice trembled. She wasn’t like that. She never shook from anything or feared anyone. The killer was damned lucky he’d not tried his luck with her. She would have put a stop to the whole thing. Would have ripped his heart out of his chest and made him eat it. She had a rough edge to her that none of the other ol' ladies had.
“When I woke up this morning, she was gone. No note. Nothing. The side gate was open, and her car was still in the drive.”
“Hang on here comes Snyder.”
“Bono ain’t here, Zane.”
“Mother fucker!”
Snyder started to say something else, but I ended the call, driving my fingers through my hair. The veins in my biceps bulged, and I knew I had to fucking calm down.
I grabbed Carrie’s purse and found her phone. Fuck!”
When I sat on the bed to pull myself together, I dropped my face into my hands. I thought of both Amanda and Carrie. The only two women in my life I'd ever let down.
And then I lifted my head and listened.
I threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt and ran for the front door. I saw a car coming up the drive. I was ready to extrapolate the driver and break his neck for killing Carrie. Because in the end, I knew that’s what would happen. When the last killing occurred, the killer would come to face either Bain or me, knowing he could never run far enough.
The driver pulled to the garage, and I swung his door open.
“Zane, no!” Carrie screamed.
The guy’s eyes were filled with a terror he would never forget. Who was this big ass man who was about to drag me out of my own car and stomp me into the ground?
Carrie got out and raced around the car. She jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist, naked as the day she was born. She cried hard, and I felt every tear against my skin.
I held onto Carrie, never wanting to let our bodies part. At least this time, I’d been saved from the torment of seeing someone I loved murdered.
“My name is Zane Legend,” I said to the guy. “I owe Legend Industries. Give the office a call this afternoon, and I’ll see that you’re rewarded for saving her.”
The guy stared at me and nodded. It was impressive that he didn’t let his eyes wander all over Carrie’s naked body. The man had a heart, and I wasn’t used to men like that.
“Hope everything turns out okay,” he said and backed away. I could only hope he wasn’t followed. I didn’t want to see the man lose his life for helping Carrie out.
I carried Carrie inside and laid her on the couch. I brought a blanket up over her body and stopped at her shoulders. Her hair was a mess, and her shiner looked even worse.
“I look like hell,” she said and cracked a smile.
“Please tell me he looks worse,” I said.
Carrie pushed back the blanket and showed me her hand. Her middle knuckles split open. I kissed her on the forehead. “That’s my girl.”
It was funny how things came full circle. I got the first-aid kit from the kitchen and then helped Carrie sit up.
“We keep playing doctor,” she said. “Except, I think it's more fun being your head nurse.” She cracked a smile again but then started crying. The asshole had scared her to death. There would be no sitting by and letting things maybe fall into place like I did with Amanda. If he made one attempt on Carrie’s life, he would make another.
When Carrie stopped crying again, she sat back and tied her hair up. She wiped the tears from her face and cleared her throat. “That’s enough of that,” she said. “I know you want this guy, and I know you’re going to kill him. I get you have a code to live by. But I have a code I live by as well. It's a new one. I want him first. I deserve that opportunity.”
“I don’t have any problem with that. And fuck all the codes. This goes way beyond anything an MC has ever had to deal with. No codes are governing this type of shit. You’ll get your chance, and then Bain and I will get ours.
My cell rang, and I saw it was Bain calling. “You picked a hell of a time to be calling?”
“You got some news for me?” he asked. Someone was in the background feeding him information. He covered the phone, and all I heard was mumbles. He came back, and that’s when I knew he had eyes and ears everywhere. “She okay?”
“How the fuck did you know?” I asked. “Did you know she was taken?”
“No," Bain said. “I dropped surveillance at your place yesterday. “You’re not a threat to me. Tonight may be a different story.”
“So, you know it was the same guy?”
“That’s my guess.” Bain covered the phone again. The MC world wasn’t used to guys like Bain and me. Smart guys who’d gone to college. Bain majored in finance at ASU. He learned how to make money work and then got involved with a crowd who had a lot of money. His father brought him into the club, and, eventually, Bain was running the damned thing. He was a businessman, and clubs usually didn’t have the business types. They did all the one percenter shit for no other reason than to be badasses. I guess we all did.
Carrie looked at me and shrugged. She could hear every word.
“Zane, she tell you who did it? Say it, and everyone is back on the streets looking for this asshole.”
Carrie nodded and then placed a finger over her lips.
“She didn’t get a look at the guy,” I said. “She’s pretty fucked up, so maybe her memory is a little woozy.”
Carrie frowned and whispered, “I’m not fucked up.”
I started to repeat that to Bain, but then the doorbell rang. “I got company, Bain.”
“You also have until eight tonight.” He went silent for a moment. “Then it’s on. Club against the club, my friend, and not a damned thing you can do to stop it.” The phone went dead, and the doorbell rang again.
“Stay here,” I told Carrie.
I grabbed the Glock from the drawer of the table sitting next to the couch and snaked my way to the front door.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
I pointed the gun at Bono’s head. My finger danced the Samba around the trigger.
“What the fuck are you doing, Zane!”
I grabbed Bono by the neck, and although the man was much faster than me, he was too shocked to react. I tossed him into the house, and he slid across the floor like a scared cat trying to getaway.
“Zane, stop!” Carrie screamed. She stood in the living room with the blanket wrapped around her naked body.
“Stop what? This is the asshole who did that to you!” I raised my gun again, fighting the urge to blow Bono’s head off his shoulders.
“It’s not him!”
I stared at Carrie. “What!?”
“It’s not him. He’s not the man who attacked me.”
I lowered the gun. “It has to be.”
“Damnit, Zane, I’d never touch your ol' lady.” Bono climbed to his feet.
“The fuck are you doing here?”.
Trucker sent me. He ran into Stringer this morning. Thought it was odd, he was up. Said he had a bag stuck in his side-saddle. Thought he was leaving town. Also thought he’d been in a fight.”
I looked at Carrie, my eyes questioning. She nodded, and I lowered the gun.
“What?” Bono asked, his eyes darting between Carrie and I. He quickly figured it out. “Stringer.”
Carrie nodded. “He grabbed me early this morning and took me to the warehouse.”
“Manny,” I said, and Carrie shook her head. “He was dead on the floor when we got there.”
Bono rubbed his hands together. The man was at a loss as to what to do.
“You don’t say a fucking word, Bono. Not a word to anyone in the club. Especially not Trucker.”
“It’s club business, Zane. We have to tell someone.”
“This mother fucker killed my wife, Rocky’s wife, Bain’s wife, and tried to kill Carrie. I’m not following any fucking codes, and I’ll deal with the repercussions when it's over.”
I walked around the room, thinking. Stringer was no doubt on his way out of town. Mexico had to be the only direction. Canada was too far. No, he’d head to Mexico. “How far to Mexico?”
Bono shrugged. “Probably three hours, depending.”
“Park your ass in the kitchen and have a beer. I need to make a phone call.” I pointed at Carrie. Hop in the shower and then get dressed. Wear something you don’t mind getting bloody.” I started to walk away. “Pack a change of clothes as well.”
“Zane, what’re you doing?” Bono shook his head. “The club.”
“Fuck the club. The club doesn’t have to know. Trucker doesn’t have to know.”
“You can’t just off the V.P.”
“You fucking watch me. I’m not abiding by rules. Stringer didn’t. I’m not.” I shewed Carrie away. “Shower.”
“Zane.”