Kane

by Davis, Jen

  He climbed to his feet to repeat the process with the next body. There were about forty to dispose of and only fourteen brothers to get the job done.

  Cue Ball lugged each drug-dealer-burrito to the pickup parked out front. Once they were all loaded up, the brothers would take them to Sucre’s own dump-spot, the one Brick had told them about, ready-made with barrels of sulfuric acid. Not only was it convenient, but he could appreciate the poetic justice in it.

  A playful slap landed on his shoulder as he finished wrapping his third body. “Fuckin-A, man. You really came through with this job tonight. We needed this money in a major fucking way.”

  Scott didn’t exaggerate. Ten thousand bucks was less than a lot of crews would demand for a job like this, but right now they needed it like water in the desert. The club hadn’t been making the same kind of cash it once had. Sure, they brought in enough to get by, but the profits from running guns declined more every year. The demand was still there, but the weapons were easier to come by these days. Buyers weren’t willing to pay as much for a middleman anymore.

  Most of the guys made ends meet with a second job. Scott worked on cars. Kane did construction.

  He didn’t mind his day job. In fact, he preferred it. He never had to wash blood off his hands after a day nailing up sheetrock.

  “I’m glad to do it.” The old scar on Kane’s cheek tugged when he smiled. Even at thirty-two years old, it felt good to have Scott’s approval. He loved his brother, even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.

  He gripped the backpack Brick had left behind after the massacre was done. No telling what Scott would do if he suspected there was another forty thousand dollars in arm’s reach. “Are you heading out with Cue Ball or staying here to bleach the place down?”

  “Are you serious?” Scott barked out a laugh. “You think I’d miss a chance to drop bodies in vats of acid, so I could stay here and play housemaid? Fuck you, man.” He chuckled as he walked toward the front door.

  Kane pulled the elastic from his hair and gathered all the stray pieces back into a ponytail at the back of his neck, then surveyed the bar. All the bodies were gone, but it would take hours to mop up all this blood. Half a dozen members of the crew had left with Scott to dispose of the bodies, while the other half of the team stayed behind to manage the mess.

  It was after midnight by the time they’d erased the evidence of the massacre. As much as he wanted to go home, he had to head back to the clubhouse to meet up with the disposal team and divvy up the money they’d made tonight.

  He gave his hands a final wash in the sink behind the bar before he strapped on his helmet and settled on his bike. A Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport. Black, it was only a few years old with a matte finish.

  The engine purred to life, and the rides around him did the same, creating a humming chorus. Kane pulled onto the dark street, and the others followed in a single file line before sliding into a staggered riding formation.

  Anemic yellow light shone through the windows of the wood-framed clubhouse when they arrived. Without the sun to illuminate the outside, shadows hid the fading paint and sagging shutters, which both betrayed its age.

  All curves in a nearly indecent little black dress, Charlene greeted him at the door the minute he walked in. She wrapped herself around him like a cheap suit, all itchy and ill-fitting. The smell of nicotine wafted off her skin. It even overpowered the bleach and stink of the night still clinging to him from the job.

  “I was starting to worry about you, baby.” She stuck out her painted bottom lip in an exaggerated pout and twirled a strand of bleached blond hair around her finger. “I’ve been here all night.”

  “I had a job.” The words came out gruffly, but he didn’t have it in him to pretend he cared.

  Unfazed, she cupped his jaw with her hand. “It’s cool, you—” Her nose wrinkled as she peered at his beard. Using her middle finger and thumb, she pulled something from the unruly coarse hair on his face.

  Oh, Christ. Was that a bone shard?

  His stomach roiled, and he pushed her away. “Go home, Char.”

  “But—”

  “Go. Home.”

  He didn’t bother to watch her long enough to see if she listened. In truth, he didn’t care where she went, as long as he didn’t have to deal with her. Rubbing the back of his neck, he trudged to the back room where they held all club business, the room they called the chapel. He was the last to arrive. All but two of the fifteen chairs were taken. They were situated along an oblong table, the seat at the far end noticeably vacant.

  The guys cheered at his arrival. Some clapped; others knocked on the worn wooden table.

  Forcing his burning eyes to acknowledge his brothers, he dropped heavily into his chair to the left of the president’s position. “C’mon now, y’all did the work too. We all earned it.”

  “But you brought in the business.” The booming voice from the door prompted every man in the room to scramble to his feet, even Kane, who wobbled a little when the blood rushed from his head. “I’m proud of you, son.”

  Despite his sixty years and decades of hard living, Malcolm Hale still cut an impressive figure. He matched Kane’s six feet, one inch, and probably came close to his two hundred pounds of muscle. Even though he didn’t ride often with the MC, he started the club with his brother, Wes, and as president demanded the respect he considered his due. He also demanded his sons call him Malcolm, just like everyone else did.

  Stepping to the head of the table, the man lifted the stack of hundred-dollar bills already waiting in the center. “Ten thousand?”

  It wasn’t really a question, so Kane stood silent.

  Malcolm cracked a wicked smile, a lot like the one Scott flashed in the middle of the bloody bar. “To take down Sucre de la Cruz, it would have almost been worth doing it for free. We helped make that fucker a king. I’ll bet he never thought we could break him just as easily.” Amid catcalls and cheers, he dropped the money back to the table. “Five hundred dollars a man. Twenty-five hundred for the club. Now, get the fuck out of here so I can get myself a blow job.”

  Biting back a sigh, Kane swiped his share and made his exit quickly. There was no telling if Malcolm’s dick would be getting sucked by Kane’s mom or some piece of club property tonight. Neither possibility was one he wanted to think about.

  He only had to drag himself a few blocks to his apartment, and he couldn’t wait to get inside to close the door on this long and nasty day.

  Too bad he couldn’t close the door on this life. As deeply as he loved his brothers, the way they lived turned his stomach sometimes.

  Closing the distance to his private space on his Harley, he kicked off his boots on the porch before heading inside. No need to track DNA evidence through his home. The blood had dried, but it could still mark up his carpet.

  He stopped in the bathroom first, hiding Brick’s bag of cash under the sink. Then, leaving his filthy clothes in a pile on the floor, he climbed into the shower and tipped his head forward into the spray. The hot stream sluiced through his hair, and the water at his feet threaded with the rust-colored remnants of his violent night. Once it ran clear, he grabbed the soap and made quick work of his body.

  He’d shower again in the morning—right after he bagged up his clothes to burn them—but he wouldn’t be able to sleep covered in death. Satisfied he was clean enough, he squeezed the water from his hair and toweled off, then padded naked to his bedroom.

  Charlene was spread out nude on his king-sized bed. When he’d told her to go home, he meant for her to go to her home, not his. He didn’t invite any women into his private space. Ever.

  She had some fucking nerve.

  Thank fuck she was asleep. He’d lay next to Charles Manson if it meant getting some rest. Sliding beneath the sheets, he gave the woman his back.

  How the hell did she get in here?

  He sure as fuck never gave her a key. Charlene was not his old lady, and he’d never prete
nded otherwise. He wasn’t interested in calling any woman his own. He’d tried it once and had never regretted anything more.

  A flash of dark red hair and sea-green eyes scratched at the back of his brain, but like he’d done hundreds of times before, he shoved the memories down, squeezed his eyes shut, and fell into dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kane

  The happy buzz Kane associated with a new day on the construction site took a hike without his best friend there. Unfortunately, Brick had earned himself a little R&R at the wrong end of a gun after the showdown with Sucre, and he wouldn’t be back for at least a week. Another guy on the team was hurt even worse, so it was basically a skeleton crew working to catch up on a project already hemorrhaging money for the company.

  The man who commissioned the build had decided he wanted major modifications to the plans. It would’ve been fine, except he didn’t make up his mind until after the work had already started, and he flat-out refused to pay for the cost of the changes. It meant a mad scramble for the team to make their deadlines, while their foreman weathered major pressure from the higher-ups to satisfy the client.

  If it were up to him, he would’ve told the buyer to go fuck himself and put the damn house on the market, but nobody had asked for his opinion.

  He’d barely strapped on his hard hat when a gangly guy clutching a clipboard darted between him and the front door. “Have you seen Brick?” the kid asked breathlessly.

  Robby was the foreman’s assistant and had imprinted on Brick like a baby duckling. The young man blew his floppy brown bangs out of his eyes and blinked rapidly.

  “Sorry, kid. Not yet.” He softened his voice at the disappointment on Robby’s face. “He texted me, though. Told me he’s out of the hospital. His girl Olivia is taking good care of him. Don’t know much about Will, though.”

  Will was Olivia’s brother and the other member of the construction crew who had been shot Saturday night. One of Sucre’s goons snatched her before all the killing started at the bar. Brick put the punk down, but not before the fucker put bullets in both Brick and Will during their rescue operation.

  Robby’s eyebrows scrunched down. “It doesn’t feel right for us to be here worrying about this stupid house while they’re hurt.”

  “I hear you. But we’ve got to make sure they have jobs to come back to. We can’t get any further behind on this build.” He firmed his jaw. “Are the other guys here?”

  Inclining his head toward the entryway, Robby sighed. “Yeah. They’re just getting started. You can head in.” He stepped out of the way but called out before Kane made it to the door. “I know you’re his best friend. You’ll let me know if you get any updates, right?”

  A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a friend outside of the MC, but Robby was right; he and Brick had become tight. “I promise. I’ll go see him before the end of the day. Now I’m gonna get to work. This house isn’t going to finish itself.”

  ***

  Amanda

  “Are you shitting me?” Perry’s voice rose in pitch with each word. She sat rigid and straight in her seat. “Which ones?”

  Amanda paused at her receptionist’s desk. She’d never heard the woman curse on the business line before.

  “Well, are they going to live?” Her hand covered her mouth and the bottom of the phone. “Okay, okay. They’ll be in our prayers, Xander. I’ll let Miss Griffin know what’s going on.”

  Did she say Xander?

  Her heart stuttered. Xander was the foreman of Kane Hale’s crew. Kane. Her first love. Her only love. The man off-limits to her now and forever.

  Is who going to live?

  A hundred questions swarmed in her head, but she couldn’t make her mouth form any of the words. She stood frozen, trying to force herself to breathe.

  Perry set down the receiver with a stunned expression. “Two guys on Xander’s crew got shot over the weekend.”

  The words pierced through her heart like a poison-tipped arrow. Staggering back, she stumbled over her too-high heels and landed gracelessly in one of the chairs ringing the perimeter of the room. The Cooper Construction lobby was easily five hundred square feet with stylish hardwood floors and soothing mint green walls. Walls now closing in on her.

  Her eyes burned; her mouth ran dry.

  The fucking biker life finally caught up with him.

  “—Barlow and Will Turner. He said Brick is out of the hospital, and he’s visiting Will today.” Perry’s words didn’t completely register.

  She licked her dry lips and croaked, “What?”

  “Brick and Will,” the receptionist repeated slowly. “Are you okay, Miss Griffin? Do you know them? I know your brother usually deals with Xander and his team.”

  She nodded absently, relief wreaking as much havoc on her body as the fear had. Now tears threatened.

  But she’d never let them fall.

  She searched her memory for faces to match the names, but Perry was right. She didn’t normally handle Xander’s builds, but since her brother’s car accident, she was responsible for everything. Frankly, she’d already forgotten the names the receptionist had supplied. It only mattered neither of them was Kane.

  Perry looked at her expectantly. Oh yeah, she’d asked a question. “No. I don’t know them, but every member of our team is important to me. Do we know if they’re going to recover?”

  “I’m not sure, ma’am.”

  She gripped the arms of her chair and forced herself up. “Are the members of the board here yet?”

  “Yes. They arrived a few minutes early.”

  Of course, they did. They thought they could intimidate her, put her on the defensive by forcing her to walk in the room last.

  Amateurs.

  If people could dick her around so easily, she wouldn’t deserve to run this company. Her irritation helped her find her center. Thrusting her shoulders back and lifting her chin in defiance, she walked into the conference room like she owned it.

  Which she did.

  “Gentlemen,” she crooned, and the six men seated around the mahogany table sprang to their feet like their chairs were electrified. “Please, keep your seats. All our time is valuable. Let’s get straight to it.” She picked up the iPad Perry had ready for her on the table and swiped it to life. The screen mirrored on the monitor mounted to the wall. The image showed a line graph in decline.

  She jumped in briskly. “Obviously, we’ve seen some decline in the past quarter, but—”

  “Some decline?”

  She didn’t have to turn her head to identify the voice of Tom Poole. The pompous prick never missed an opportunity to be a thorn in her side.

  “Let’s call a spade a spade. We’re bleeding money out of our asses, sugar.”

  The men at the table gave a collective chuckle, and she bit the inside of her cheek at his insincere endearment.

  “Hardly. We’ve had a few setbacks, but nothing we can’t rebound from.” She swiped to the next slide. “In my opinion, we need to branch out. Go bigger. If you look at these projections—”

  “Bigger?” This time it was Samuel Levine. “Darling, what we need to do is scale back. Cut the fat, as it were.”

  “I disagree, and I would appreciate it if you hear me out.”

  Samuel shot her a placating smile. “I appreciate your step-daddy started this company, Amanda, but I think it’s time you let the board do its job. We’ve been doing this a long time.”

  That doesn’t make you any good at it. Gritting her teeth, she bit back the retort. “The board’s job is to advise me. Ultimately, I need to decide our best course of action.”

  Tom stood. “What you mean is, the president of the company decides the best course of action. Maybe it’s time we elect ourselves a new president.”

  She should’ve known.

  “I suppose you’re willing to offer yourself up for the position.” Hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep the bite out of her tone.
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  “As a matter of fact, I am.” Shooting her an oily smile, he stroked the silk tie resting against his rotund stomach. “All those in favor?” Every man at the table raised his hand.

  It was a coup. Or at least an attempt at one.

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry, Tom. You don’t have the votes.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he sputtered. “I have every vote in this room.”

  “Too bad for you, they’re not enough. My brother and I have fifty-one percent controlling interest in this firm.”

  His self-satisfied smile returned. “But Mike isn’t here.”

  Leave it to this flock of fucking vultures to try and use her brother’s car accident to take control of their company. She should have never agreed to let outsiders invest in Cooper Construction in the first place. Thank God, she wasn’t the kind of woman who ever left things to chance.

  Now it was her turn to smile. “It doesn’t matter. I hold his proxy.” She navigated to the copy of the notarized document on her tablet and left it up on the screen. “Does anyone need me to zoom in on his signature? Do you need the name of the notary on the seal?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

  Her voice hardened. “This is my company, gentlemen. You don’t want to hear my ideas, fine. You know your way to the exit.”

  Tom’s round face grew red; the blush even peeked through the strands of his ambitious comb-over. “Arrogant bitch. President or not, you can’t expand without money, and I refuse to fork over one red cent to finance your ridiculous little fantasies.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I have my own money.” Even if she hated herself for how she got it. “This meeting is officially adjourned. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”