by Winters, KB
She finally laughed so hard her shoulders shook. “Our kids are going to have such fucking potty mouths.”
Our kids. “I love the sound of that, our kids. When are these little rugrats coming?”
“Well I’m ten weeks, so…doc says beginning of July. Are you really happy about this, Savior? I know the pregnancy was unexpected and exciting, but twins—”
I pressed three fingers to her mouth, chuckling a little at the frown she sent my way. “There’s nothing to not be happy about. You’re mine and I’m yours and I put two babies in you.” She rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile. “As soon as life gets back to normal I’m going to put a ring on that fucking finger to make it forever.”
She softened at my words like they were exactly what she needed to hear from me. “I love you, Savior. Please be safe and come back to me. To us.”
“I promise,” I told her and I fucking meant it.
***
The entire ride to Reno, I couldn’t help but think about my girl. About our change in circumstances. I wanted to marry her, hell, today if I could. But considering we were all headed up to Reno to possibly go head to head with a fuckin’ cartel boss, I couldn’t.
I couldn’t ask Mandy to marry me when I knew there was a chance I might not make it out of this shit alive. She’d already lost too much. Everything. Her brother and my club brother, Ammo. Her parents. Losing me might break her completely and I couldn’t have that shit on my conscious.
So, I had to be the bigger, badder, crazier bastard to make sure that whatever happened now, I made it back to my girl. And our babies.
About thirty minutes outside of Reno, I had to clear my mind. It was essential in our line of work, and survival depended on it. So I pushed Mandy out of my mind and got into warrior mode. We had no clue what, if anything, would go down when Gunnar and Stitch dropped off that fucking truck but with cartels, death was always an option. I wouldn’t put anything past this Carlito asshole based on everything Vivi had dug up on him and his whole operation.
The only thing that made me worry was my brothers, Gunnar and Stitch. There was some beef brewing between them and in a situation like this, underlying tension could get us all killed. Cross knew what he was doing and I had every confidence in him, but his brain had to be sex addled for him to let them drive up together. Whatever had gone down between them, I just hoped it didn’t bite us all in the ass at the worst possible time.
I pulled into the parking lot where Gunnar and Stitch were supposed to meet Carlito and spotted Lex’s ginger hair standing well above the crowd waiting for the bingo hall to open. He gave me a discreet nod and I parked my bike as close as I could to the door and joined him so we could walk in together. “Been here long?”
“Nah, I circled the block a few times to see if anything stuck out for me. It didn’t so I mingled with the seniors.” He sent a flirty finger wave to a group of older women who erupted in a fit of giggles. “Apparently they know the delights that can be found in the bed of a ginger.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.
We got settled with bingo cards and ink, right by the window so we could watch. Inconspicuously. Twenty minutes later Lasso pulled up and went inside the Oriental Dragon and ten minutes later he was joined by Jag. Most of the MC who’d been tasked with coming up to Reno was in place.
Now all we had to do was wait.
And I fucking hated waiting.
Chapter Twenty-One - Lasso
“How long do you think this asshole is gonna make us wait?” Jag and I sat inside some generic Chinese food buffet, right by the windows with our eyes focused on the cube truck Gunnar and Stitch leaned against. Smoking cigarettes.
He lifted his shoulders casually and let them fall, but I wasn’t confused by his attempt to appear unaffected. “Who knows? Probably as long as he feels like it, especially if Stitch stole his girl.”
“I gotta see this chick because I’m curious as fuck how scrawny ass Stitch was able to snatch a babe from a cartel boss!” Not that I doubted the kid’s prowess since I was pretty sure he’d already gotten busy with our pretty attorney, Tanya.
“She could be fucking homely, Lasso.” Jag’s lips twitched because he knew that was bullshit. “Or maybe she thinks the kid’s her key out of that life.” He shook his head and bit into an eggroll. “She wouldn’t be far off, the Bastards have an inordinate amount of men with hero complexes.”
“It’s not a complex when you’re a real goddamn hero.” He laughed. Both of our gazes kept sliding to the truck at the far end of the parking lot just in case any shit popped off. “So, Jeremiah, what are your plans now that Vivi has returned?”
His smile spread, big and wide. “I’m going to marry her as soon as shit around here dies down.” That certainty was so typical of Jag. The man never met a challenge he couldn’t overcome.
“Don’t you think you should ask her first?” Rocky and I had gotten married purely out of necessity the first time around so I knew how important it was to do it right.
“I’ll ask, but she’ll say yes. Vivi loves me.” And the rest of us loved seeing that his smile had returned.
“Good because you were a miserable fucking bastard for the past year. And just because she loves you doesn’t mean you don’t have to go all out and give her a big, special proposal.” He laughed.
“I know how to ask her how to marry me, man.”
“Aww, man, I have a great idea. Hack the President’s teleprompter and ask her.”
Jag barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Nah, she’d never forgive me for that. Probably would kill me her damn self.” His gaze turned back to the truck as a black SUV pulled into the lot but turned out to be another group of old ladies headed for the Bingo hall. “I’ll find some way to do it right.” I had no doubt he would.
I nodded and took a few bites of my own food. “You got any idea what’s up with Gunnar and Stitch?” The tension between them was pretty fucking hard to ignore and it was more than just the shit they’d been through together in Mexico.
After he finished a bite of fried rice, Jag shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “My guess is that Gunnar was being his typical asshole self, blaming Stitch for something he couldn’t have possibly known. The same way he blamed you for Rocky. Me for Vivi.”
I nodded because we’d have to be blind not to see that the Gunnar who’d returned was a bigger asshole than the one who left to look after his dying mother. “Think we should be worried?” No one had said a thing but we were all worried about how the anger between them would affect our moves today.
Jag nodded and wiped his hands on a napkin. “He hasn’t been himself since he got back. I can’t explain it but it’s like he’s twitchy or something. Like he wants out of the Bastards. I wonder what he’s thinking.” Leaving the club was a big fucking deal and not something that was done lightly.
“Yeah, I think he’s got something going on. But Stitch? That kid is a true blue Reckless fucking Bastard. Bringing us a damn good weed supply and a war with the cartel all in his first fucking year.” I took another bite.
“I’m surprised you’re so relaxed about it considering you have a family to worry about, now.” Jag said, scooping up a bite in his chopsticks.
I shrugged it off. “This is the life of a cowboy, Jag. We’re always fighting some fucking outlaw or other bad guy and saving strong-willed damsels in distress. I chose this life with my eyes wide open. We all did.”
“Even with a wife and kid?”
“Kids,” I clarified, sharing the good news with my best friend.
“No shit? You’re having another kid. That’s fuckin’ great, Lasso.” His bright white smile lit up his whole face. “Congrats, man.”
“Thanks. We just found out a couple days ago. With all of us turning into old men, getting’ hitched and having babies, it’s more important than ever for the Bastards to keep winning. We have more to fight for. More to live for.”
That didn’t mean that I wasn’t scared as fuck
about fighting with the cartel because those fuckers were ruthless. Pointlessly violent, raping and killing just for the hell of it. Or in retaliation. “When you’re in the club, you can’t half-ass it, you know that better than most. You have to be willing to do what it takes for your club and your family. Look what Vivi did for you, fuck for all of us. That’s family. That’s hardcore fucking family, man.”
Jag’s lips twitched, half in amusement and half in pride. “Fuck Lasso, when did you get so deep?”
“Apparently when I met Rocky. Falling in love makes you strong as fuck and since I was already strong as fuck, I’m damn near invincible. And arrogant,” I told him with a smile. “Rocky always says I’m too cocky to die.”
“She’s right about that,” he agreed with a quick smile and stacked his empty plates on the edge of the table. “Don’t worry, Cowboy, I’ve got your back.”
“Damn straight!”
Jag’s smile faded and he started to rise from his seat. “Look alive, Lasso. We’ve got three black SUVs turning into the lot.” Then he was on his feet, an expression of pure steel on his face. When the first couple emerged from the lead SUV, Jag groaned. “Fuck me. I don’t know whether to be relieved or fucking frustrated.”
“Better to be a bunch of old couples going dancing at the Community Center than a carload of psychotic Mexican cartel members.”
“Yeah but the longer it takes him to show up, the more antsy I get.” Jag scrubbed a hand over his head and grunted. “This waiting is driving me fucking crazy.”
I knew what he meant but an hour later, this Carlito guy still hadn’t shown up.
Or the hour after that.
Even I was starting to think the asshole wouldn’t show.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Stitch
Ten goddamn hours. That’s how long Carlito kept us waiting before he showed his stupid fucking face, showing up with a caravan of black SUVs. He strutted up in his white denim pants and a big ass cowboy hat, belt buckle, a light pink shirt complete with a fucking bolero tie that had a humongous turquoise rock in the center. Pointy toe Italian style boots completed the look. His smile was smug, so fucking pleased with himself for making everyone wait on him, I wanted to pound his face into the fucking cement. “Motherfucker,” I grumbled under my breath, ignoring Gunnar’s heavy breathing beside me.
The big man was seething and I knew we’d have to be careful until I set eyes on Marisol. He pushed off the side of the truck, squaring his wide shoulders and standing at his full height. “It’s about goddamn time. Where the fuck is the girl?”
The girl? I scoffed but kept my thoughts to myself. Gunnar was a stubborn son of a bitch and there was no point getting myself riled up over shit I couldn’t change. But I stood next to Gunnar because, right now, we were a team.
Carlito’s smarmy grin spread when his fat fucking henchman appeared at his side. He took a step back when Gunnar took a step forward. “She is here. Where is my shipment?”
“Inside the big fucking truck you gave us, shit for brains.” Gunnar snorted out a bitter laugh and crossed massive arms across his wide chest. The man was a beast and the only signs of intelligence Carlito showed, was being afraid of him. “Show us the girl and you’ll get your fucking truck.”
His brown eyes studied Gunnar and me for a long time before he turned and whispered something in Spanish to Guapo, who went back to the middle SUV and pulled Marisol out, much harder than he fucking needed to.
She was pale and her thick dark hair was matted to one side of her head and her wrists were tied together with zip ties. My hands gripped into tight fists when she looked up and lifted her hands to shield her eyes against the sun, brushing hair from her face to reveal a big fucking purple bruise on her right eye. Marisol’s jeans and t-shirt were filthy and all I could think was that he’d kept her in that same fucking room all this time.
It took everything in me not to bridge the gap between me and that sorry fucker and turn his face into fucking hamburger meat. “You tiny little asshole,” I growled at him. I couldn’t believe this little shit was the boss of the cartel. He was such a pussy.
“Watch your temper,” Carlito warned, eyes trained on me with a small smile tilting his thin lips upward.
I pushed my boots into the blacktop parking lot as hard as I could to keep myself rooted to the ground until this fucking trade was over. “Watch yourself, little man.”
Gunnar grunted and stepped between us. “Enough with this fucking bullshit! Give me the girl and take your shit. Now.” He looked so goddamn intimidating that even I almost flinched.
Guapo stepped forward to protect his boss. Or his cousin. Or his boyfriend, who the fuck knew at this point. He put a hand up to Gunnar’s chest and just that quick, Gunnar twisted his wrist until he was on his knees. “Puto cabrón,” he spat, eyes full of hatred as he stared up at Gunnar.
“You got something you want to say, fat boy?” When Guapo said nothing, Gunnar grinned. “Tell your ape to keep his fucking hands to himself. Next time I’m keepin’ one of ’em.” Even I believed that crazy bastard.
Carlito clapped his hands like a fucking spinster aunt. “Calm down, boys. Now you see the girl is here, I want my shipment.”
Gunnar cast a quick glance at Marisol, just long enough to take in her unkempt appearance before sending a harder, angrier look at Carlito. “She ain’t in the condition we agreed on, Carlito.”
“Yes, well, Marisol has a hard time following instruction.” The smug bastard was so goddamn creepy, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him, especially when Marisol shivered like she was cold in this seventy-five-degree weather. She looked beaten. Exhausted. Terrified.
“She ain’t the only one,” Gunnar said, taking another step forward when Guapo finally got back to his feet. “How you gonna fix this, Carlito?”
His thick dark brows furrowed in confusion. “Fix what? She is here.”
“But not unharmed. I thought you said you were a man of your word.”
Carlito laughed but he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. He might be crazy but only when he had the advantage. “Fix? What do you propose?”
Gunnar grinned and it was a terrifying, snarly grin. Like a lion right before that motherfucker pounced. “Well I would propose you let us put Guapo out on the stroll, but I don’t think too many men out there want to fuck a big fat fucking teddy bear.” He next words were cut off when Guapo sent a fist flying into Gunnar’s gut. “Damn you hit like a bitch, maybe we’ll just put you in one of the whore houses so you can give out five-dollar blow jobs.”
Guapo lifted his fist again, hate shining so bright his eyes were black but it was a mistake. Another one. Gunnar’s fist was raised higher and he let it go with a sickening crack to that fucker’s jaw.
“Puto!”
Another King Kong sized fist raised in the air and Guapo braced himself for the hit that never came. He opened his eyes to find Gunnar right in his face, nostrils flaring and face red, prepared to throw down. “You want to do this, fat boy? Because I will fucking rip your tiny cock out through your throat.”
Carlito hissed at his henchman. “Guapo, calmate no hay tiempo .”
“We waited plenty of fucking time,” I told him. “You have time now for your boy to get the beatdown he deserves. You next?”
He froze and gave Guapo a quick head nod, sending the man back to his feet where he grabbed Marisol and shoved her in my direction. Carlito jumped into the passenger seat of the first SUV and rolled down the window. “Next time I tell you to come alone, you do it!” He pointed at Gunnar, who he’d pegged as our leader.
Gunnar stared at Carlito until he squirmed in his seat, sweat beading around his hairline. “There won’t be a fucking next time, asshole. If I see either one of you again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your fucking head. And yours,” he pointed at Guapo who now occupied the driver’s seat. “Get the fuck outta here.”
I waited, hand on the piece holstered behind me, certain this dirty motherfucker would try
to be tough before he left. Instead, Guapo hit the gas and the SUVs surrounded the truck and got to work.
“Let’s go,” Gunnar said, wrapping a protective arm around Marisol and leading her across the parking lot to the plain black van behind the strip mall.
Thank fuck this shit was over. For now.
I hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Three - Max
The thing no one ever said about falling love, about having a family, was how their pain became your pain. Since having children and getting married, I had a greater appreciation for what my own ma went through, raising two hellions like me and Golden Boy. Watching Jana in the clubhouse kitchen—where she’d been for the past four hours straight—rinsing and chopping, boiling and sautéing, baking and frying, brought new meaning to the word pain.
She hadn’t stopped moving since she woke up. Hell, if I was keepin’ it real, she hadn’t stopped for the past twenty-four hours when she’d taken Marisol in her arms and got her cleaned up and in some new clothes. The sight of the poor woman, frail and broken, had touched something inside of my woman. I just hoped it was temporary. “Babe, relax. Please.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind and startled the fuck out of her, proof of just how deep into her thoughts she’d been.
“Max,” she sighed, letting her weight relax against me. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been watching you for a while, baby. Talk to me.” I turned her in my arms and held her chin so her gorgeous green eyes were on me.
“What do you want me to say? The shit she must have gone through, Max.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she dropped her head to my chest and fisted her hands in my shirt. I wrapped my wife in my arms and held her while she cried, our kids playing in the corner because she hadn’t let them out of her sight for the past two days. “She has bruises everywhere, some healed with new bruises on top of them, and even a few cuts. Shallow cuts but there was one deep cut,” her words broke off, no doubt thinking of the event that caused the deep scar on one side of her face that I barely noticed anymore.