Judgment Road

by Christine Feehan

  He smiled back and patted her hand. "Don't worry about an old coot like me. I always land on my feet. Got a son who can't seem to pull his life together. Sold just about everything I have to help him out, but it isn't enough. He wants me to sell my bike."

  Anya gasped and shook her head. In the six weeks she'd been bartending, Bannister had come in every day and sat on the stool, nursing a few beers. The only time he became animated was when he spoke about his Harley. He once told her if a man treated his woman as good as he did his bike, there would never be a divorce. She had laughed, but she could see he'd meant it.

  "You can't sell your bike, Bannister," she said adamantly. "He doesn't know you very well if he asked you to do that."

  "He's paying off a gambling debt. Swears he quit gambling, but the principal is never actually paid, only the interest." He rubbed his beard. "I swore the last time, when he took everything, including the house, I wouldn't help him again, but he's my only son, and I don't want to lose him."

  Anya patted his hand, served two other customers and filled Heidi's orders for three tables before returning to him. She kept her eye on the door, although Reaper had told her to act normal. He wasn't happy with her being the bait, but if Alena and Lana could go to the Ghost Club and try to get information, she felt the least she could do was bartend as she usually did.

  Reaper sat in the darkest corner of the room. In the shadows. He seemed to disappear, until he was a mere blur, one almost impossible to notice unless you looked for him. Heidi had been told to stay away from his table.

  There were a few tables ringing the dance floor. Because the floor wasn't in use, it wasn't lit, so it was fairly dark. Savage sat in one of the chairs, looking like a lazy tiger. He was a lot like his brother, in that he was big and had defined muscles, but the resemblance stopped there. Anya knew there was only a two-year difference, but still, he looked quite a few years younger. He didn't have the scars on his face that Reaper did, but she knew the scars were there. They ran deep inside him. Heidi didn't go near his table either.

  "You ever think that no matter how often you bail your son out, he's just going to keep gambling?" Anya asked. "Gambling is just as addicting as drugs to some people. They can't stay away."

  "What if they kill him because he can't pay off the debt?" Bannister ran a hand down his face as if wiping away his tears when there weren't any. "I'm an old, used-up man," he declared. "Not much to lose, but he's young yet. He could have a life."

  Everyone had a story, she realized, some far worse than others. She liked Bannister. She liked most of those coming into the bar. Most, like Bannister, were bikers. On the weekdays, more locals came in, mostly, she was sure, to check the place out.

  "You have a life, Bannister," she objected. "You aren't so old that you can't find a lady who would be crazy about you and want to spend her time on the back of your bike and in your bed. Don't give up on life. You just aren't that old."

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the Burrows brothers entering. They slipped inside, didn't even glance her way, but went straight to the table directly across the room from the bar. They would be able to watch her every move. She wiped down the bar for the millionth time, made three more drinks and popped the caps off four beers before she went back to Bannister, leaning in close to him.

  "Busier than normal for a Tuesday night," she observed. "Who knew the bar would take off like it did. Preacher was grumbling about having to work so much."

  "Heard they were thinking about putting in pool tables."

  She nodded. "Working with the planning commission over here on the coast is difficult, especially if the buildings are in any way considered historical. They don't want you changing a thing. Czar came up with some solution, adding a second building, a small one just for the pool hall. It's kind of crazy, but it would look exactly like this building, so it would blend. They'd put in a large archway so it looked as if it was all one room, when it really is a separate building. I don't know how they're going to pull it off, but when he and Absinthe went before the board, they came back with the permits."

  Heidi was taking orders from the Burrows brothers. Anya wasn't surprised they ordered beer. She knew they wouldn't drink more than that. She tried not to let her gaze stray in their direction. It helped that her favorite customer was distressed. She kept trying to think of a solution for him other than selling his beloved Harley. She knew he kept it in excellent condition. It was a much older bike but ran like one of the newer ones.

  The door opened again and two men walked through the door. She stiffened. She couldn't help it. One was in a sheriff's uniform, the other street clothes, but she knew immediately he was a cop as well. She stepped to the other side of the bar when they beckoned her.

  The taller of the two gave her a smile. A shark. A really intelligent shark was her assessment. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

  "I'm Jonas Harrington," the tall one said. He flashed his badge at her. "Czar around?"

  "I'm sorry, he's not here right now. If you need him, I could maybe get through to him on the phone," she offered, hoping that was what bartenders usually said when a cop wanted to question the owner.

  "It's not necessary. I'll catch him later," Jonas said.

  Was that some kind of play on words? She didn't know. She never talked to cops. It was the code of the street. It wasn't done. Heidi came up to the bar, waving her over.

  "Excuse me. I have to make a couple of drinks." She wanted to kiss Heidi for interrupting. She made the drinks Heidi asked for, mentally composing herself before turning back to face the cops.

  "Can I help you with something?"

  The one in the sheriff's uniform pushed three pictures across the bar at her. "Name's Deveau. Jackson Deveau."

  "Nice to meet you."

  "Have you seen these three men?"

  She glanced down. Yeah, she'd seen them. The three assholes who'd confronted her in the bar and then waited outside. She picked up the pictures, pretending to study them. "I have a pretty good memory," she said, stalling for time. "They've definitely been in here. They caused some trouble, especially this one."

  She tapped Deke's picture, and left her finger on it. "I'm trying to remember the date though. The days all run together after a while." She felt like it was better to stick as close to the truth as possible. To be honest, both men were a little intimidating, which was strange. After Reaper, she didn't think she'd find anyone unnerving again.

  "What kind of trouble did they make?" asked Deveau.

  Then Reaper was there, leaning over the bar, pointing to a beer, all but snapping his fingers at her. Any other time she might have thrown the bottle at his head, but she was grateful. She hurried to get the beer.

  "Jackson Deveau. Haven't seen you for a couple of months. And Jonas. Think this is the first time you've been in the bar. You boys slumming?" Reaper drawled the question, turning the lawmen's attention to him.

  "Looking for these three." Jonas tapped the photographs.

  Reaper glanced down at the three pictures. "What'd they do?"

  "Beat up a couple of men and took their wallets in Fort Bragg," Jonas said smoothly. "Witnesses said they were on bikes so I thought they might show up here."

  "They did," Reaper said, shoving the pictures across the bar at him with some disgust. "Tried throwing their weight around, were ugly to the waitresses and our bartender, and they got their asses kicked. Last I saw of them they were heading toward their bikes to take off. They know better than to show their faces here."

  Anya set the beer in front of Reaper and moved down the bar to Bannister again. For some reason the older man gave her comfort. Cops. Hit men. Bikers. She'd gotten herself into a mess all because she couldn't resist one man. He sat on a stool bullshitting the cops, weaving a mixture of truth and lies so it sounded not only plausible but probable.

  "Keep talking to me, darlin'," Bannister said softly. "Don't pay attention to them."

  Was it that obvious? She w
asn't good at being a biker babe, that was for sure. Lana and Alena could carry off anything, and look like a million bucks doing it, but she couldn't even handle cops in the bar.

  "I lived on the streets most of my life," she confided. "You know the kind of code."

  He patted her hand. "Did Alena make her chicken wings?"

  "You smelled them, didn't you?"

  He nodded. "I smelled them all the way down the highway. Couldn't resist."

  They had a commercial kitchen and a license to sell certain items. Chicken wings were on that list and most of the locals knew to come on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Alena's chicken wings were spectacular. She moved quickly to get Bannister some, grateful he hadn't asked earlier. Going down the hall to the tiny kitchen to get him a batch allowed her to take a much-needed breath.

  Player and Keys sat on the stools under the stainless steel counter, both eating the chicken wings and drinking beer. They sent her guilty smirks. "Doin' good in there," Keys said.

  "Aren't you supposed to be watching the monitors?" she asked. "Alena's going to kill you if you eat up all the chicken. You have chicken thighs at the clubhouse."

  "Got hungry," Player said. "Watchin' monitors is hungry work."

  "You two are crazy. Did you see the cops come in?"

  Keys slid off the stool and grabbed a napkin, his gaze on her face. "Just cops, honey," he soothed. "Nothing to worry about. Reaper ran interference. He'll get rid of them. You were smart to admit they came in."

  "It's easier to stick to the truth."

  Both nodded their heads. "Don't pay attention to the Burrows brothers. Stay on Bannister. He'll look after you. Suggest he talk to Czar about his problem," Keys added.

  She wasn't used to going to Czar for every little thing, but she really liked Blythe and Blythe seemed to think the man walked on water. For that matter, they all did. She was secretly afraid she wasn't going to be good at being Reaper's woman. She was definitely out of her element, although she was very glad she wasn't dealing with two hit men who liked to cut up women alone.

  She scooped chicken into a basket. "Those men aren't the same ones who cut up my roommate. How could the Ghost Club have more than one hit team?"

  "Don't worry about it, honey. We've got this. You'll be safe."

  She went to the door and then turned back. "Does Lana know the answer to that question?"

  The two exchanged an alarmed look. "Is that a trick question?" Keys asked.

  She glared at them and stomped out, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer. Plopping the basket in front of Bannister, she added two napkins and opened another bottle of his favorite beer. "Men are absolute swine, Bannister. Present company excluded."

  The two cops were leaving and the churning in her stomach subsided a bit. She thought that made her pretty fucked-up, to be more terrified of the law than the hit men sitting in her bar, calmly waiting until her shift ended so they could slice her into little pieces.

  "I concur," Bannister said. "Men are absolute swine. Not me, of course. You don't want to leap on the back of my bike and ride off into the sunset with me, do you?"

  Reaper joined them, his back never quite to the Burrows brothers. "Wouldn't want to have to kill you, Bannister, but you ride off with my woman and I'd hunt you to the ends of the earth. It wouldn't be pretty when I caught up with you."

  Anya shivered, fingers of fear creeping down her spine. He had to be joking with the old biker. Reaper knew she would never actually ride off with him. He just looked so scary all the time. There was never a hint of a smile out in public. She noticed all members of the club joked with one another, but real smiles were rare and in public, nonexistent.

  "Got it, man," Bannister said, not in the least offended. "Do the same myself if she were mine." He took a bite of chicken. "Might kill for this food," he added, licking his fingers in appreciation.

  "That's all Alena," Anya assured. She glanced at the clock. "Preacher's late. I need a break." She left the two men to fill Heidi's orders again. This time, thanks to Bannister opening the floodgates on the chicken, several more orders were placed. She spent time rushing to put baskets together, mix drinks and open beer bottles. By the time Preacher came in she was more than ready for her break.

  "I'm going outside for a few minutes to cool off," she told Preacher. "It gets hot in here. We really need to install a couple of overhead fans."

  "I agree," Preacher said, looking up at the ceiling. "One right over the bar and one over the dance floor."

  "Do it soon before I roast," Anya said. "And we need a third bartender. You work alone on my day off and I work alone on yours. It's getting so our slow days aren't so slow."

  Preacher nodded. "I'll tell Czar to put the call out. I was late coming in and worried you'd be swamped. Another waitress would be good as well."

  "Heidi and Betina kick ass waitressing, but they need help too," Anya agreed. "All good for business, but bad for us."

  She took off the apron she wore and folded it, putting it behind the bar. "I'm out of here."

  "Fifteen minutes, Anya," Preacher called as she started down the hall toward the back door.

  "You were late, that buys me thirty."

  "Twenty then," Preacher bargained.

  She kept walking, disappearing around the corner. Immediately Lana tugged her into a small room, pushing her down into a comfortable chair. "Put your feet up. In exactly twenty minutes, whatever happens, you go back into the front and start work. It doesn't matter if Reaper shows again, you just work, got that?"

  Anya kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet into the chair. "I got it."

  "And don't ask questions, especially anything you don't want to know about."

  Anya nodded. "I've got it."

  Lana pushed a bottle of water into her hands. "Drink this and read or something." She touched her jeans where her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket to look at the screen. "Savage says they're on the move. I'm up. Stay put, Anya, and follow the plan no matter what or Reaper will never let you help with anything again."

  Anya nodded. She wasn't doing that much. She had headed down a hallway and was now safe, curled up in a chair while Lana took over for her. Lana was taller than Anya, but they were dressed in the same clothing and Lana would make certain she was in the darkest part of the yard, sitting down so height didn't matter. The two hit men expected to see Anya, so they would believe and walk right up to her before becoming aware that it wasn't Anya sitting there.

  Reaper waited until the Burrows brothers went out the front door before standing and leisurely making his way across the room. At the same time, Savage stood also, but he went to the front door, shadowing the brothers. Reaper flipped up the slab of wood on hinges, going through the bar to the hall. Instead of rounding the corner as Anya had, he went straight down the hall into the meeting room. On the other side was a door leading outside.

  He went out and was in the night. In the dark. He inhaled the salt air. Fingers of fog crept in from the ocean, reaching toward the bar, curling around the trees and touching the cars in the parking lot. He moved unerringly in the darkness. The others were close. He didn't need to see them. He felt them. Keys and Player were inside, looking after Anya just in case the brothers doubled back. Savage trailed the two men. He was capable of killing them if they suddenly realized they were being set up and tried to escape.

  They'd done this squeeze in the school, when they were barely teens. It was classic Czar, no way to lose. Czar didn't believe in fighting fair, not when the stakes were life or death. He played to win. Their lives had been on the line, and he'd made certain every single one of them knew they could die if they didn't follow the plan. He'd been right too. A few times, someone had deviated and they'd been killed, or another child had. They all learned to trust Czar's plans.

  Lana sat on a small stone ledge that wrapped around a narrow strip that passed for a flower bed. She swung one foot back and forth and tilted her head to look up at the sky. The fog wa
s thickening, just beginning to draw a veil over the stars.

  "Hey there, Anya," Mike Burrows greeted from a few feet away as he rounded the corner. "Is it okay to smoke back here?"

  Lana waved her hand toward the open air and nodded. Mike came straight at her while his brother took a more circuitous route, one that brought him dangerously close to where Reaper stood as still as a statue just between two large bushes. Lana didn't move from her easy pose, but turned her head toward Mike.

  She looked delicate and even fragile in the blurred light the fog caused. Reaper had never considered Lana either of those things, but watching her, he realized she gave off that appearance. Mike evidently bought into it. Reaper stepped behind Steven Burrows just as Mike whipped out his butterfly knife.

  "You're going with us," he hissed, whirling the knife, only too happy to scare her.

  "Oh please," Lana said. "Melodramatic much?"

  Reaper caught Steven's head between the crook of his elbow and his hand, rolled him over his shoulder and wrenched hard. The crack was audible in the night air. Reaper held the man dangling over his shoulder to be certain all fight had gone out of him and he was dead. Mike glanced their way, but it was difficult to make out anyone in the darkness with the fog thickening by the moment.

  He brought the knife in, blade up. "You should have minded your own business, bitch. Little girls shouldn't be listening to men's conversations."

  "Bartender right here," Lana lied. "My job description is to listen." She made no move to get away. She just sat there, swinging her foot, watching him come closer.

  Mike stepped nearer, suddenly frowning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make Lana look like Anya. "Who the hell are you?"

  "Not the woman you want to cut into small pieces." She inspected her fingernails. "I just got a manicure. I have a little job I have to do later, or seriously, you'd be wearing that silly knife as a necktie."

  "Fuck you, bitch." Mike glanced around quickly for his brother.

  "Why do men always say that? I mean really, no education? You don't get your way so you cry like a little baby? You have to play big braggart to pump yourself up? What is it? Women all over the world would like the answer to this question."