Wreck & Ruin

by Emma Slate

  His hand clenched the steering wheel. “I know. Christ, I know.”

  “What did Richie think he was doing?” I asked, trying to figure out the thought process of my deceased boss. “Do you think Dev was screwing Richie over in some way and Richie wanted Dev to get into shit with the cartel?”

  “He’s not here to ask, sweetheart. All we can do is speculate.”

  Had it just been about money? Had it been all about greed?

  Richie had never been terrible to me or to any of his employees, he’d just been an absent boss. He certainly didn’t deserve the death he’d gotten.

  No one deserved to die like that.

  Somehow I was able to doze for a bit and woke up as we pulled into a shitty motel parking lot—one that looked like it could be rented by the hour. It was early morning and there wasn’t any foot traffic. Colt knocked on door number 6 and Boxer answered. Zip was sitting on one of the two double beds smoking a cigarette.

  “Let’s get this shit done, yeah?” Zip asked in surly impatience. He sucked on the cigarette as he dashed from the room.

  I looked at Boxer. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “No fucking clue. He’s been like that for hours. Little ray of sunshine.”

  “We shouldn’t be gone long,” Colt said, gathering me into his arms. He kissed me, bringing me flush against his body.

  The horn blared, causing me to jump and Colt to turn around and shoot a scowl in Zip’s direction. “Bastard,” he growled. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I closed the door, making sure to lock and dead bolt it. Not that it mattered. If someone was determined enough to get through the door, then a thin chain wouldn’t stop him. Boxer lounged on one of the double beds, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, smiling in reassurance.

  “Take a load off, Mia. It’s gonna be a while.”

  I removed my shoes and slid underneath the taupe bedspread. It was old and faded, but it was clean enough.

  “Why are these motels so…”

  Zip looked around at the decor. “Brown? Tacky? Trapped in the seventies?”

  “All of the above.”

  I closed my eyes, but instead of relief, the strain was worse.

  “He’ll be fine,” he assured me.

  “I know,” I said, eyes still shut. “You guys rode your bikes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’d you stash them?”

  “Cluster of trees behind this shit hole.” Boxer was quiet for a moment and then in an effort to distract me, he asked, “So you got any single friends?”

  “No,” I retorted.

  “How about a single cousin?”

  “None of those either.”

  “Leave Colt for me.”

  “Never gonna happen. Besides, I already got his name on my back. You don’t think that would be a pain in the ass to remove?”

  “I’ll scratch it out with a Sharpie. See? I don’t even want to cause you pain.”

  “You’re not really looking for a lady, are you?” I opened one eye and peered at him. “If I recall correctly, I saw you with two naked women one morning. In broad daylight. On the clubhouse’s living room floor.”

  He suggestively dragged a finger across his lip. “Thinking about me, are ya?”

  “You couldn’t handle me.” I closed my eyes.

  “Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Probably not. Fucking handful that’s for sure.”

  A few hours later, something woke me from a sound sleep. I shot up from the bed, scrambled to get my hair off my face, and looked to Boxer.

  He was awake, alert, boots on, a pistol in his hand. He put a signal to his lips to be quiet and I nodded. On silent feet, he padded toward the door.

  “Dude, it’s us,” came Zip’s agitated voice.

  Boxer stuck his pistol in his vest pocket as he peeked through the peephole. A moment later, he slid off the chain, turned the lock, and opened the door.

  Colt and his VP entered the motel room. I looked Colt over. He wasn’t bleeding, he had no injuries, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Miss me?” he asked with a knowing grin.

  Before I could reply, a cell rang and all the guys searched for their phones. It was Zip’s. “I gotta take this,” he said, striding to the front door, his eyes glued to the screen.

  I briefly wondered if it was Joni, but then I turned my attention back to the man whose name was tattooed on my skin.

  We stared at one another, but didn’t move. I was sure that once I was in his arms I’d never want to leave.

  “And that’s my cue. We’ll be at the diner for a while,” Boxer said. “Happy humping.”

  The door shut and Colt secured the room. Then he was turning to me, his eyes dark, his steps predatory.

  A while later, I rolled off of him and collapsed onto the bed. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

  “What do you want now?” I asked him. “Food or sleep?”

  “Food.” His stomach rumbled in obvious agreement. “Let’s have a quick shower and then you can buy me a burger. I can sleep later.”

  I grinned. “Get the shower going. I’ll be right there. I just want to check my phone for messages first.”

  When I tried to get out of bed, he grabbed my arm and brought my lips to his for another long, drugging kiss.

  “Don’t take too long.” His voice was husky and his eyes glittered with promise.

  I shivered. How could I want him again after I’d just been with him? “I thought sex was supposed to dwindle when a couple settled down.”

  He let out a chuckle and rose from the bed like a hulking bear. “For most people, I’m sure it does. Not us. I won’t let it. Now check your messages and then get your sweet ass in the shower.”

  “Sweet ass? God, you’re a regular Roman poet.”

  “You don’t like me for my poetry. You like me because you know where you stand with me. Don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  His gaze softened. “I’m glad you were able to change my mind.”

  “About what? About coming to Odessa with you?”

  Colt shook his head. “About thinking there wasn’t a woman in the world who’d put up with my shit.”

  It wasn’t poetry. But it was honest, and heartfelt, and vulnerable.

  “I love you,” I said quietly. “Did I tell you that today?”

  “No. Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  “You’re supposed to say it back. You can say it in biker language if it makes you feel less like a sap.”

  Colt laughed, and the somberness banished from his eyes. “Love you, Mia. No one else for me. I want you in my bed, on the back of my bike, and one day, a ring on your finger.”

  “One day, I’d like that too.”

  “Yeah?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Get how you seem so—I don’t know. Looking to the future when our present is a pile of shit.”

  He scrubbed his hand across his jaw, suddenly looking more exhausted than he’d been letting on. He hadn’t slept. He’d driven us from Waco to Odessa, and while I’d cat-napped in the motel room, he’d gone to see his colleague. How was he even still awake?

  “It’s always a pile of shit. Life, I mean,” he said. “Sure, there are times of calm. But the thing is, it’s always a mess to clean up. One fire after the next. Do you think it would be any different if you were just a normal civilian with no idea about the MC feud and a cartel in our city? No, it wouldn’t be any different, you just wouldn’t know about it. It wouldn’t be in your face.”

  “I stopped being a regular civilian the moment I met Dev.”

  Colt nodded. “On his radar.”

  I sighed.

  “You’re not regretting sticking around are you?” he asked. Naked vulnerability was etched across his face.

  I went to him and pressed my head to his chest. “No regrets,” I admitted. �
�But what would you do if I told you I did have them?”

  He cupped the back of my neck and gave it a light squeeze, silently demanding that I look at him. “I’d let you go. I’d get you somewhere safe with a new identity.”

  “You’d let me go? Really?”

  He chuckled. “You sound disappointed.”

  “I thought you’d be all possessive and demanding and tell me under no circumstances you’d let me go.”

  “Love is about doing what’s best for the other person, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I stood on my tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. “I don’t want to go. I want to stand next to you when we come out on the other side of this.”

  “You will. I know you will.”

  He turned away, giving me a perfect view of his muscular, inked back and his tight ass before slipping into the bathroom.

  Jesus. Where had he come from?

  And how did I get so lucky to call him mine?

  An hour later, we met the boys at the diner down the road. They were sitting across from one another, drinking sodas and Boxer was eating a plate of chili cheese fries while Zip went for a more traditional breakfast of a short stack with fried eggs.

  Boxer looked up at Colt and grinned. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Yeah,” Colt said lightly. “Don’t ruin it.”

  Boxer shoved his plate across the table next to Zip and then got up so Colt and I could sit together on the same side of the booth. After the perky young waitress took our order and left, I asked, “So, when do we find out what we find out?”

  “Few days,” Colt replied vaguely.

  The boys exchanged a look and then Zip altered the direction of the conversation when he said, “Gotta call from Knight. They’re on their way.”

  Colt nodded. “I hate calling them in for back up.”

  Boxer shrugged. “They’ve called us before for back up. It’s why we have brothers.”

  “Who’s Knight?” I asked.

  “Knight is president of the Blue Angels in Coeur d’Alene.”

  The waitress brought our food and check. With bedroom eyes sent in Boxer’s direction, she told us to have a nice day. Boxer watched her depart. “If y’all will excuse me, I need to see the waitress about something.” He scooted out of the booth and went in search of the woman about to be on the receiving end of Boxer’s charm.

  I watched him lean over the counter and say something to her. She laughed and nodded. Before I knew it, they disappeared down the hallway, no doubt seeking the back exit and the alleyway.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “She’s going to have a quick romp with him?”

  “Looks like it,” Zip said with a chuckle. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to look at it. “Gonna take this outside.” He slid out of the booth and headed to the front door. The doorbell jingled as Zip walked out, cell to his ear.

  “And then there were two,” I muttered, picking up my fork and diving into my cheese omelet.

  “Talked to the fire chief,” Colt said, his tone conversational. He was already halfway done with his huevos rancheros and I’d barely touched my food.

  “You got a call? I gave him my number.”

  “But I’m me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, anointed one. What did the fire chief have to say? How bad is the house?” I held my breath.

  “Kitchen and living room took the brunt of it. Bedrooms are mostly untouched, but he says to give it about a week before going in there because of the smoke.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. That I can deal with.”

  “He also mentioned your bar.”

  “My bar? Oh, Dive Bar. Wow. I forgot for a moment that Richie gave me his bar. Isn’t the fire chief suspicious about all these buildings belonging to me going up in flames?”

  “Naturally,” he said with a wry grin. “But considering you weren’t on the premises when either of the fires started, there’s speculation but no outright accusations.”

  “All he has to do is look into who I’ve been associating with for him to put the puzzle pieces together.”

  “His job is to put out fires and tell the cops if arson is suspected, not start a criminal investigation.”

  I stared at him. “How much did you pay him?”

  “Pay him what?” Colt asked.

  “Colt,” I warned.

  “Mia.”

  “Did you bribe him to look the other way?”

  “Nah, of course not.”

  I let out a breath.

  He looked at me and grinned. “I bribed him so he’ll lie to the insurance companies.”

  Boxer eventually wandered back and slid into the booth across from us, looking relaxed and flushed.

  “You’re disgusting,” I said with a laugh.

  He flashed a grin. “Lady, you have no idea.”

  I looked at the waitress as she stepped onto the dining room floor, tying the strings of her apron around her waist. She looked at Boxer and wasn’t at all discreet about checking him out. Boxer lifted his half-empty glass of soda and silently toasted her.

  Her chuckle was throaty, her eyes sparkled, and her dimples winked from her cheeks as she beamed. She got back to work to serve the few customers that were at the counter who hadn’t noticed her absence.

  “Magic dick,” Boxer stated.

  “Dick is right,” I teased.

  Colt lifted his arm to rest on the booth, his fingers running up and down the skin of my arm. I scooted closer into the crook of his body and enjoyed the solid warmth of him despite the humid air circulating through the diner.

  He didn’t say anything or remark on the fact that Boxer and I were ribbing each other. But I knew he was enjoying our exchange.

  “You gonna eat the rest of that?” Boxer asked, gesturing to my plate.

  I pushed it to him.

  “Where’s Zip?” he asked, dousing the omelet in hot sauce.

  “On the phone,” Colt replied. “Don’t know with who.”

  “Probably Cheese,” Boxer stated. “He’s been checking in with Cheese about Joni.”

  “Really,” Colt drawled. “Why?”

  I had to force myself to remain lax even though the insides of me were tense and coiling with the truth.

  “He feels like a shit that he said he’d watch her and then had to give Cheese the duty while he was out of town.”

  Boxer’s announcement did nothing to ease the tension I felt in Colt’s body. “Those two can’t stand each other,” Colt remarked.

  “Yeah, I dunno. But Zip takes his duties seriously,” Boxer said. “You know that.”

  “Hmmm.” Colt looked out the window and Boxer took a moment to glance at me. We had an entire conversation with our eyes—both of us knew what was really going on between Joni and Zip and yet neither us wanted to be the one to let Colt in on the secret.

  What would happen when it all exploded?

  There would be hell to pay for sure.

  The waitress appeared at our table and gently set the check down, addressing Boxer. “Thank you so much for joining us. You can pay at the cash register.”

  Boxer grinned. “Thank you for the excellent service, darlin’.”

  She giggled and then fluttered away like a love-struck blonde butterfly.

  “Yup, exactly as I said. Magic dick,” Boxer crowed.

  “If your dick is so magical why did we have to pay for breakfast?” Colt asked, finally joining the teasing train.

  Boxer’s face fell.

  I let out a deep belly laugh. “That totally just made my morning.”

  Zip was on his bike, helmet and sunglasses on, ready to depart. He glowered when he saw the three of us come out of the diner. “Bout damn time.”

  “Why so happy, sunshine?” Boxer needled.

  “I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

  I didn’t blame him. Even though I’d had more sleep than Colt, my eyes were gritty. I’d added a Red Bull to our check
and held the cold can in my hand. I popped it open and took a long sip. I needed the energy and caffeine if I was going to keep Colt awake while he drove. I certainly couldn’t drive his truck—not with my wrist the way it was. A truck that big needed serious power and both hands to control.

  “See you guys,” Colt said, heading around to the driver’s side. We waved and Boxer and Zip pealed out of the parking lot.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay to drive home?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” he said.

  “You’ve been awake for hours—”

  Without a word, he filched the Red Bull from my hand and guzzled it. “This’ll keep me going for a while. I swear. If I get tired, we can pull over and I’ll crash for a bit.”

  “Why didn’t you want Zip or Boxer to drive the truck back?”

  “It would’ve been more trouble than it was worth to get one of the bikes stored properly in the truck bed—besides, three of us sitting in this truck would’ve been cramped.

  “If only my wrist wasn’t in a cast,” I muttered. “Then I could’ve driven your truck. I’ve got experience driving a truck, you know.”

  “Your truck is an accident waiting to happen. When was the last time someone took a look at the engine? It’s gotta be at least twenty-five-years old.”

  “It belonged to my grandfather,” I told him. “And it does just fine.”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat. “We gotta get you a new truck.”

  “You could just give me this one.” I slid my hands over the hood. “It’s a beautiful, purring beast.”

  “Maybe for an anniversary gift,” he said with a grin.

  “How about an I’m-sorry-I-torched-your-bar gift.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We got into the truck and then drove away from the diner. “Who taught you to shoot?” he asked. “Been meaning to ask you that.”

  I briefly looked over at him. Even with exhaustion tugging at the lines around his mouth, I thought he looked formidable and in control.

  “Grammie,” I said. “She and Gramps are both from Chicago. Gramps was from the North side. Grammie was from the South side. A regular West Side Story, you know? They weren’t supposed to be together. They both came from—ah—less than stellar families.”