Pawn

by Kerri Ann

  Scowling at Raptor and giving me a look that states to leave it, Death speaks up. “Getting back to the business at hand, we need to set this up in our favor.” Pulling another beer from the bucket in the middle of the table, Death uncaps it and waits for us to continue.

  “I have an idea, but it takes all of us. We need to work it right.”

  “And how do you suggest that, Busta? King has his filthy fucking mitts in everything the clubs do. Everything. He has from the start, and he won’t bother to worry about his pets when the fallout hits. We’ll all go down.” Cap thinks I betrayed him, that I betrayed the club. That I ran for higher ground when shit went down. Even with me telling him what happened, he still doesn’t believe me. Fine, I’ll show him the only way I know that can prove it.

  Dragging out my phone, I play a recording, showing a middle-aged man receiving head from a very underage girl. It shows the back of his graying hair, the receding hairline that’s just visible, and the view of her tied to a pole with his hands holding her in place. “Suck it hard. I don’t care if you gag. I love it even more. Harder, harder,” he yells at her, bringing her so close there’s no way she can gasp for air. Yelling over his shoulder for someone, the man’s face comes into view.

  “Jesus fucking Christ! Is that who I think it is?” Cap looks at me, then at Rap, knowing we’ve seen that fucker before.

  “Yeah, that’s Director of Homeland Security, Johnathan Hart. The dude who was there when we were taken down in the Cruel Intentions. He’s pretty fucking powerful now. I bet there’s no way he’d want that shit leaked.” Pausing the feed before it reaches the section where he kills her—because even I have a hard time looking at it—I turn to Death. “Show him what you have.”

  He pulls his phone out. “You sure? I mean, we talked about this before. This—”

  “Yeah. Go,” I reply as he hits the play button.

  Cap looks confused, but he won’t be for long. As the video plays, a feed of Death, Curse, and Destroyer unloading boxes upon boxes of drugs from the back of a banana truck. “You sure you can move this much?”

  “Yeah, we can. We have the resources. More than anyone else on the West Coast. We got this,” Death states, handing over a case presumably for payment of the shipment he’s just received.

  “Good. I’d hate to have to kill your whole club over a few kilos.” Shaking hands with Death, the video pans out from the side. I’ve already seen this, so the shock is minimized with me. Not so much with Cap and Raptor.

  Standing beside King—who’s smiling as wide as a Cheshire—the man in a neatly pressed suit like King grins. “Controlling one club at a time, King.”

  “One at a time,” he replies, clearly pleased with himself. “Did the Bows send you the latest shipment in good order?”

  “El Capo,” someone calls out.

  “Yeah.” He turns toward them.

  “Boss, the plane is ready.”

  “Gotta go, King,” the man says without answering the previous comment about us. I know he received it in good order, I heard that True delivered it personally with Nock and two of the other boys. Two that are long since dead after a bad run.

  “Back to the mansion on the hill?”

  Not answering King, he comments, though we still can’t see his face. When it pans up, the man that I know Cap will know immediately on sight comes into view. “You watch my business here or I’ll find a way to fucking gut you, King. I have more friends than you have enemies.” Turning away, he leaves King on the curb, worried and fearful.

  Pausing the feed, Death sets his phone on the table and turns to the group. “Now do you see the urgency? The Alta Noche are taking over our area, one club, one drug buy, one gun run at a time. We’re the DEAs pet project in the west. We’re the Alta Noche’s little mules.”

  Everyone at the table is quiet as they consider the consequences of the videos they’ve watched. Rap, Cap, and I are the only ones, though, that get the whole picture. We see who’s controlling who.

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen him, El Capo or King?” I ask the Heartless Bastards.

  “I’ve only ever had dealings with King. Fucker never sat right with me, but he offered terms and product that suited us.” Soulless is steaming inside. The look on his face tells the story. He must have an issue with blood pressure, as his face has deepened to a dark ruby red. He obviously had no idea the guy had connections to the Alta Noche in the way he does. Yeah, he’s been crafty in making sure we knew he was DEA, and that with the flick of his fingers he could lock us all away for good, total club and all. Though knowing he was running it all through the Alta Noche, that, it seems, was a surprise.

  Looking at Cap, his gaze has softened slightly. “Did King approach you like he has the rest of us?”

  Shocked, he blinks a few times before snapping himself out of the internal thoughts about what he’s just learned. Our father wasn’t in jail like we’d assumed. He’s running Alta Noche, and he’s been playing all the clubs. He’s fucking working with King, and is the king of his own extensive enterprise in Mexico to boot.

  As soon as Death showed me this video back at the hospital, I knew we had to fix this.

  “Who wants a Soul Shaker?” Oubliette crows as she walks toward the table, teetering eight glasses.

  Before I can answer her, Death says, “Thanks, babe. That sounds great.” As he’s handed one of the highballs, Obi smiles back.

  Placing a drink in front of each of us, or handing it to us directly, Obi smiles at me before she wanders away. No muss. No whining she’s not involved in the conversation. Nothing. That woman is—

  “God, she’s somethin’ else,” Death notes as he sips the florescent green concoction. “Damn. That woman is near perfect. I hope you understand that, Busta.”

  Took the words right out of my mouth, Death. “Trust me, I’m not missing the mark,” I reply, watching her sway away.

  Leaning on the table, pulling our attention away from Obi, Rap pushes the drink to the center of the table. “We’re going against them how? A little video doesn’t do much, guys. Not against the fucking corrupt government agency and a fucking drug lord.”

  “We’ll work out Grim.” Looking at Cap, I know it will take both of us in some capacity. “Common enemy. Common goal. For now, we need to close up our ties on this side. We need to use Hart to end our relationship with King, and we’ll have to go legit all around. No more 1%. No more dangerous cargo and unsavory goods. Anyone opposed to that?”

  “As long as we can continue to make money?” Soulless pipes up. Taking a smell of his glass, he sips it tentatively. “This shit is good.” Gulping down a mouthful, Soulless is content with the drink she supplied. “What the fuck’s in there?”

  “I never ask. She won’t tell ya anyway,” Death crows. We both know she’s a fucking gem with drink creations, and I don’t dare tell him in what other capacities she’s well versed in. He and Jazzy have been like family to her, so the last thing he wants to hear is how well she fucks.

  Cap resting back in his chair, arms crossed and leveling a deep look of hatred at me still. “So let’s work this out then. You seem to be the man with the plan, so tell the rest of the class, Busta.” His cynicism is expected, and I can’t deny that he has every right to be mad at me, but we need to work this out. And fast.

  “This is what I was thinking...”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Oubliette

  Bringing them the drinks I’d created, I pulled a drop and run. That was after a quick hello to Bennett. The last thing I want is to be in the way, or to break up their power meeting. I was so happy to see Death and Trigger. Even Radish perked up as she heard my voice. That felt good.

  As always, I try not to overhear things, but I couldn’t help noticing that Lucius and Cap were mirror images of each other. Damn near perfect replicas. The same skin tone, the same build, the same mannerisms, the same defensive stances. Damn near the same eyes—and the only difference I could see was their faci
al hair. Where Busta has a fantastic beard, Cap has a clean-shaven look. He has a ton of tattoos that peek out under his shirt and cut, and a glaring stare that states death to Lucius. If they were given a chance, I’m not sure I could place bets on the winner.

  Checking out the bar, I restocked the shelves and rearranged shit that someone had put back in the wrong spot to keep myself busy. I never wanted to know their business, and I’m trying my hardest not to know now. Keeping away kept me from being a participant. That, unfortunately, hasn’t worked.

  Shuffling a stack of paperwork, I find a picture of my brother, Grady. “Shit. He’s gonna fucking murder me if I don’t call him soon.” Normally, Grady and I see or speak to each other at least once every couple days. With all of this going on, I’ve only called to say I was alive and to check in. I haven’t, and won’t tell him about the murder, the kidnapping, the other murder, and my secondary hostage taking, mainly because he couldn’t have done shit about it. My brother is a big guy, and yeah, he works out, but even he wouldn’t be a match for any of these guys. Grady is an investment banker down the street, and he’s a wet noodle compared to them. Still, he’s gotta be pissed I haven’t called.

  Picking up the bar phone, I walk off to one of the booths. I won’t go to the back area by myself again, as I can’t make myself relive those memories, and if I walk over, I’ll just be an interruption they don’t need.

  Slinking away from the bar, Lucius tracks my moves with his eyes. Holding up the phone, I point to the booth on the far side. I don’t want him worrying about me. Heck, after my fear confession of being alone today, I’m amazed Lucius even let me have a moment of peace in the change room. I think I freaked him out. That’s only fair, as I’ve been freaked out and scared. He might as well be a bit too.

  Sliding into the booth, I dial Grady. Two rings in and he answers. “Hello? This better be my sister. This is my sister, right? Not some biker telling me she’s been shuttled to the moon or some shit.”

  “Hey, Grady. How are you?”

  “How am I? How do you think I am? We haven’t spoken in almost two weeks, and that boss of yours—Granite, or whatever, wouldn’t tell me what was going on! I even checked your condo. You haven’t been there. Know how I know? Your favorite plant is dying. I watered it. You’re welcome.” His voice reaches prepubescent tones. He’s pissed off.

  “I’m fine, Grady. Really, I’m okay.”

  “You don’t sound okay. You sound hushed, like you’re trying to hide.” Man, he’s such a worrywart.

  “I’m good, I swear. I’m just somewhere that people are having a meeting and I don’t wish to interrupt. So, any news?” I ask.

  “Usual.”

  Wow, that was stated too fast. “Grady...”

  “Nothing you need to worry about right now, Obi.” I know he wasn’t feeling well a few weeks back, and he was having tests done, but he’s avoiding talking about it. I know when he’s avoiding. I’ll leave it for now, as I have things I don’t want to talk about either. Not like I can get into it.

  “Grady—”

  “I’m glad you’re calling. I need to travel for a bit, Obi. Do you think you could watch Kessel?” His voice falters. I can tell something profound is bothering him. With all the shit lately, the last thing I can handle is a lie from my brother. I won’t tell him the truth, so it’s kind of hypocritical.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Grady. Please.”

  “Like you’ve told me?” Taken aback by his harshness, he cuts in before I can reply, “Sorry, Obi. That wasn’t fair.”

  “It’s okay, I get it. I haven’t been very forthcoming.”

  “So you’ll watch Kes?” he asks again.

  “Of course I can watch Kessel. I love that damn dog.”

  He clears his throat. “Um...Obi, I’m at work and it’s month’s end. I gotta go.”

  Feeling a bit choked up, saddened that he’s shooing me off the phone, I say, “Grady, I swear I’ll see you soon. We’ll talk.”

  With a pause on the line, I know he’s thinking of how to get out of the conversation, and how to ask me what’s going on at the same time. He avoids it, though. “Love you, Obi.”

  I smile into the phone. “Love you too, Grady.”

  Setting the phone on the table after I hang up, I do my best to control the emotions that I’ve been holding in. The kidnapping, being back here, the memories of the cage and Nock—all of it is weighing on me. Now I’m withholding from Grady and he knows it.

  When our parents died in a car crash, Grady looked after me. He made sure we were fed, clothed, housed, and that I went to school like our parents had wanted. I did everything he asked or said, as I feared if I didn’t that I’d be alone. That the reason we were alone was because I’d always rebelled. I miss our parents every day, and Grady is all I have left. I tell him everything—except for this. I know I’ll have to, just not yet.

  Looking over to the men at the table talking in harsh tones, concern laces their features, and I know something profound is going on. I’m glad I’m not a part of it. I’ve had enough of being a part of anything that has to do with this. I’ll stick with creating their drinks and hopefully a little more time with Lucius. Sure, I’ve seen these guys with girls—revolving doors, a smack on the ass and a ‘later, darlin’’ as they do the walk of shame away. I don’t have big plans for us. In all honesty, I have no plans for us. I don’t think that far ahead. I still kind of think this is one of those Stockholm Syndrome type hostage things. I fell for the captor because he brought me cookies.

  I know he feels remorseful, but I’ve been around these guys long enough that I know they’re not the marrying type. No white picket fences, no two kids that are perfect shining examples of the community, and no husband who with a kiss on the cheek takes off to his acceptable job.

  As I’m laughing to myself at the audacity of him in a suit and tie, Lucius’ phone vibrates. I watch him. His stance stiffens, and his body hardens as he rises out of the chair fast, while the others start to scramble around. Walking over to my booth, the look on his face is hardened and worried. With that panty-melting smile, I see him trying to hide something.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, though I honestly don’t expect an answer.

  “Things are in motion, faster than we thought. I need you at the clubhouse for your safety. Do you mind if I have Miss swing by your place quick and grab clothes?” Fuck, he’s really worried.

  “Yeah, of course. No problem at all. Can he also grab my brother’s dog? I need to watch him for a while.”

  A dog? “Yeah. I’ll let ‘em know.”

  Hopping on the bike, we ride off toward the Broken Bows and whatever fate has in store for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Busta

  Fuck!

  No, really. Fuck!

  Rushing to the bike, trying not to worry Obi, I text Miss her address and her brother’s place as she recites it.

  I told him that I’d be fine and didn’t need his ass to follow me around like a fucking prick. I didn’t need an escort to Humble, and because of our meet, I didn’t bring heat. I’ve left us vulnerable. That means more to me than worrying about myself.

  Strapping her helmet on, Obi hops up on the back of the bike without argument. “Hold on, love. We’re gonna go a bit fast.”

  Starting my bike and pulling out of the lot as if the wings of hell are attached, I rush us through the center of town toward the clubhouse. Yellow stop lights were green as far as I was concerned. Nothing was stopping me from getting her to safety.

  I tried to be involved fully in our meet, but with her there—after her revelation earlier—I couldn’t take my eyes from her for long. Even letting her out of my sights in the back, I was on edge. When I received a text, at first, I wasn’t going to look at it, but when I saw it flash up with King’s name, and a comment that stated “She’s pretty. What are we up to, boys?” with a picture of us walking into Humble through the sight of a gun, I didn’t argue. We moved as fast as
we could.

  Pulling down the highway to the clubhouse, I watch every car, every person on the street, and every business window or rooftop for threats. I’ve never felt so afraid to lose someone. Slowing at a red light, I turn down a side street instead of stopping on purpose.

  Hugging her arms around me, Oubliette strokes my abs. It’s soothing, not erotic in any way. Whoever put this woman in my path, I need to buy them a whiskey and offer my thanks. True. Well, he’s six feet under—or thereabout, and he doesn’t deserve it.

  Knowing the distance, I’m watching every turn and street. Three more lights then she’s safely tucked away. Counting down each light, curve and blinker strike, two prospects stand at the gate. Opening it for us, I pass through and park on the right.

  Shutting off the bike, I ask her, “Obi, you good?”

  Unbuckling the helmet, she shakes out her hair. “I might need a hair tie and some conditioner to straighten it back out, but otherwise, I’m good.” Stepping off, I help her down by way of holding those fabulous hips.

  Setting her on her feet, I kiss her on the forehead and smile as she strokes my beard. “Go, be dangerous. I’m fine.”

  Oh how she understands this life and what I intend to do. I can’t express how it warms my heart. “I’m sorry, Obi, but I do have to go.”

  Opening the door, she steps into the darkened room. “I’m good. Really, Busta. Go do what you have to. I’m sure you have more important things to do than to watch over me.”

  There you’re wrong, Oubliette. I avoid that comment, as there’s nothing more important that her safety.

  Releasing her, she breathes hard as I pull away. “You’re mine, Oubliette. As soon as I can, you’ll have a property patch on that fabulous ass. Consider yourself an owned woman.”

  She gives me a cocky grin. “What if I don’t want to be owned?”

  “No choice in the matter.” I lean in and whisper, “I’d chase you to the ends of the earth.” Kissing her sweetly again, even as the room erupts in catcalls and whistles, I stroke her hair smooth. “Gotta go now, woman. I’ll see you in a bit. Stay safe.” Looking around the room, I immediately see Panna. “Hang out with Pan. Keep the old lady out of trouble, okay?”