by Kate Kessler
“You were too good for that cow.”
He just looked at her, arched a brow. She smiled. “I guess maybe I had a thing for you, too.” She’d just lied to herself and called it friendship.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You haven’t.” One of the things she’d taken away from the scant therapy she’d gotten in prison was that blame wasn’t something you could conveniently place wherever you wanted. It had to go on the right shoulders. Jason was the one who had duped her, and she’d let him by ignoring all the little signs along the way.
She’d been young and stupid and in love. She wasn’t any of those things now. And he was gone.
“So, we’re good?”
She nodded. Then, to prove it, she rose on her toes and kissed him firmly on the mouth. His arms just began to tighten around her when his phone rang. He sighed against her lips and let her go to answer it. “Clark,” he said. After a few seconds of listening, his brow furrowed. “You’re fucking kidding me…All right, thanks.” He hung up.
“What?” Killian asked.
“Rank apparently took responsibility for Wex’s death, but now the SOBs have decided they want vengeance for Brand.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” she echoed.
Dash’s expression was grim. “They’ve put a hundred grand on the heads of the Crow old ladies who did the work.”
“Shit. We need to get them out of town. Every asshole in the state will be after them for that kind of money.”
“I doubt it,” he said, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Every asshole in the state will be after the two hundred they put on you.”
Fourteen
Two hundred thousand dollars. That was a pretty decent bounty, wasn’t it? Double what they were offering for the others. Killian supposed she ought to feel honored that they thought her corpse was worth more, but she didn’t. It was a pain in the ass she didn’t need. It was bad enough she had to watch over her shoulder for SOBs, but the White Reapers, too? Shit, Annie’s whorehouse was not worth that kind of vengeance.
But maybe the money it made was.
Regardless, Killian was on high alert, every nerve in her body jangling and aware. By the time she and Dash got to the clubhouse, Jackie and the other women were already packed and ready to leave for a safe house upstate. Obviously, the Crows were taking the Reapers’ threat seriously.
“Come with us, doll,” Jackie said, taking Killian’s hand in hers. Rings glinted under the light.
“I can’t, Jack. Not when Rank has Shannon.”
The other woman looked conflicted, but she only nodded. “I get it. You take care of you, okay?”
“You too.” There wasn’t going to be an apology for getting Killian into this, and she didn’t expect one. She didn’t have to hand Brand over to the women, but she had, and was as much to blame for what was done to him as those who held the knife. She had no remorse and no regrets over what happened to the bastard. It was just so incredibly inconvenient timing-wise.
“Killy-girl, we need to talk,” Danny announced, taking her by the arm. He drew her away from the others and dropped his voice. “Word is, the SOBs are thinking of making a move on Rank as well. Payback for Wex.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Shit. “Do the Sons have the kind of firepower needed to get past Rank’s security?”
“According to Blister they do.”
Killian didn’t know who the hell Blister was. What she did know was that Shannon was in even more danger than she was as Rank’s prisoner. At least she could trust Rank to an extent, but the Sons? If they were turning on Rank, they weren’t going to leave witnesses. She had to get Shannon out of there, and Rank wasn’t likely to hand her over.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m actually entertaining the thought of protecting Rank.”
“Feed him to the fucking Sons,” Danny replied. “Get your girl and get out of there. You know we’ve got your back.”
She did, and she loved him for it. “You got enough guns?”
“I can get them.” He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his worn and faded jeans.
Killian left him to make his call, and returned to Dash. She repeated what Danny had revealed. “Should we warn Rank?” she asked when she was done.
“You can’t trust him not to turn on you.”
“I can’t do nothing when Shannon’s in danger.”
“There’s your answer.” His expression was grim. “When do you want to go?”
“Danny’s on the phone with someone who can get guns.”
“I can get guns.”
She tilted her head. “D, I don’t want to owe that outfit of yours any more than I already do, and I don’t want you owing anyone, either. The less you have your hands in this, the better.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you seriously trying to protect me?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Well, yeah.”
A grin lit up his face. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a hard kiss, not caring if anyone saw. There were a few hoots and hollers that brought heat to Killian’s face. She’d never been much for PDAs, but at that moment she didn’t care who was looking, or what they thought.
“’Bout time the two of you got together,” Jackie teased with a smile. Killian shook her head. The woman had a bounty on her head and she was still a romantic?
“Hey, Dash!” Danny yelled, still on the phone. “C’mere!”
The moment Dash left her, Jackie was there again to fill the empty space. “Hey, sweetie, I hear you met Jonah.”
Killian arched a brow. “Gossip still travels fast around here, huh?”
“We’re like a small town in the Bible Belt, you know that.” Her smile was soft, maternal almost. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I feel a little stupid for not knowing, but I’m all right. It was a long time ago.”
“Dash is a good man.”
It was as close to a warning as Killian had ever gotten from the woman. She heard the edge in her voice, saw the glint in her heavily lined eyes. Dash was their golden boy.
“He is,” she agreed. “But I’m not fucking him because I owe him, Jack. I care about him. Not that it’s any of your business.”
The older woman smiled again—brighter this time. “So you’re fucking him, huh? How is that?”
Killian rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the blush that filled her cheeks. Jackie laughed. “I feel better knowing he’s got you looking out for him.”
“I feel better knowing he’s got my back.”
“He always will.” Jackie turned her head when someone said her name, then looked back to Killian. “I gotta go. Stay safe, doll.”
“You too.”
They hugged and then Jackie left. She picked up her bags, as did the other women, before leaving with Arlo and a prospect who would drive them to the safe house and stay with them in case the SOBs showed up. They’d be stupid to give chase—Crow safe houses were well fortified, not to mention that the grounds were often booby-trapped.
With the women gone, the tone of the house quieted. A couple of guys played pool while two others watched a titty movie and drank beer. Another four played cards and three more kept watch, shotguns in hand in case there was trouble. Dash was still with Danny, so Killian retreated down the hall to the room where the guys worked out. It smelled like sweat and farts, but she wasn’t there for the ambience. She found some hand wraps and taped herself up. She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders before giving the punching bag hanging in the corner a couple of jabs, testing it.
She went at the bag with fists, forearms, knees, and feet. It wasn’t a terribly aggressive workout—just enough to loosen her up and take the edge off the worry that threatened to occupy her mind. She’d taken a couple of beatings lately, and her thigh was still tender, but she needed a little Zen. She focused on the movements of her body, on her breath and her strength until that’s all there wa
s. Just her and an imaginary opponent who took what she gave and came back for more.
She was just finishing up when Dash found her. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. She felt good, but not tired.
“You look hot,” he said with a grin.
She smiled back. “If you find sweat a turn-on, you must cream your jeans in this place.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Biker sweat doesn’t do it for me. Just yours.”
Killian stripped off the wraps. “After I get Shannon home, I may want to test that theory.”
His gaze sparkled. “Anytime.”
And that was the end of the flirting. “What’s going on?”
“Blister’s bringing over some guns. Danny wanted my opinion on what we need.”
“Who is this Blister guy?”
“Danny’s cousin. Big son of a bitch with a twitchy temper. Fairly good guy, though—for a bigot with anger issues.”
She frowned. “Why don’t I know him?”
“He’s been in and out of prison—not for the guns, but assault charges—for the last ten years. Before that he was in the marines, so he was probably deployed when you were hanging around.”
“If Danny trusts him, that’s good enough for me.”
Dash shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a weight bench. “Wanna spar until he gets here?”
They hadn’t sparred in years. “You still got it?” she taunted.
“I might not be able to kick a guy in the head whenever I feel like it, but I can take care of myself.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
Maybe it was a diversion to keep her mind occupied. Maybe it was a way for both of them to burn off some energy, but really? It was just foreplay. Both of them appreciated the other’s abilities and talents when it came to fighting. They pulled their punches and kicks—not wanting to actually injure, but rather to make a point of the damage they could do if they wanted.
Fifteen minutes in, Killian leapt up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she mimed punching him in the head. The stitches in her thigh pulled in protest, but held. Dash took her to the wall, pressing her against it rather than slamming.
“You’re hard,” she murmured, digging her heels into his back to pull him harder against her.
One of his hands slipped inside the back of her leggings, curving around her ass so that his fingers could easily explore her pussy. “You’re wet.”
Her breath was already labored, but what he was doing with his fingers made it faster. “Fuck me.”
He looked amused. “What if someone walks in?”
“You think I care?” She really didn’t. There was no privacy in prison. No modesty, either.
Dash held her with one arm and pulled her leggings down with the other. He unfastened his jeans, moved her clothes out of the way, and shoved his cock inside her with one slick thrust. Killian groaned. This was what she needed.
It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t romantic. It was the two of them growling filthy things to one another as their bodies frantically came together. It was cold wall against her bare ass, the slap of his belt against the back of her thighs, his hands under her knee and around her back as her head bumped against the plaster.
It was good. So mind-numbingly good.
She came hard, biting her lip to keep from announcing it to the entire building. A second later Dash came, too, face buried in her neck, breath hot and damp on her skin. It was another minute or two before he set her down. Her legs wobbled, but the bandage on her thigh was still dry, so she’d take it as a win.
Killian had just pulled up her stretched-out leggings, her thighs sticky with sweat and sex, and Dash had barely buckled his belt, when Danny strode in. He took one look at them and grinned. “Blister’s here.”
They followed him out into the main area of the clubhouse. Standing in the middle of it all was a large man with long, shaggy hair. Killian almost choked on her own spit. It was the bastard who’d tried to start something, then shaken her hand, in the parole office last week.
Danny made introductions. “Blis, this is Dash Clark and Killian Delaney.”
“We’ve met,” Killian drawled as the big man faced her. She stuck out her hand. “Violating parole, huh?”
Blister grinned. He looked even more psychotic than he had a week ago. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Of course she wouldn’t. There were worse things than a snitch, but not many in this world. “What have you got?” she asked.
Killian, Dash, Blister, and Danny went outside. Blister opened the trunk of an old Trans Am being slowly eaten by rust. Dash’s jaw tightened at the sight of it. He hung out with guys whose disrespect for hygiene bordered on criminal, and picked up dog shit with a plastic bag on his hand, but the mistreatment of motor vehicles offended him to his very core.
The trunk was half full of guns—handguns, shotguns, semi-automatics. All calibers, makes, and models.
“Is that a grenade launcher?” she asked, pointing.
Blister grinned. “Brought that baby back from Afghanistan.” Like it was a treasure. If he thought that highly of it, it must be good.
“We’ll take it,” she said. Dash threw her a startled glance. She shrugged. “We have no idea what the Sons have.”
“Mostly semis,” Blister replied, though she hadn’t expected one. “I know their dealer. I’ve got some AKs if you want, but I brought you guys some of my prime stock.” He pulled out something that resembled an AR-15. “Made it myself. Untraceable.”
Danny slapped him on the shoulder. “You brilliant bastard.”
Blister beamed under the praise. “I have more.” He offered Killian a 9mm that felt incredibly comfortable in her hand.
“I order the parts online through a fake ID,” the large man explained. “Some I smuggled in from overseas. A couple buddies and me run a small factory out of one of their houses.”
“You’ve tried them all out?” Dash asked, checking a pump-action shotgun.
“Fuck yeah. Can’t sell faulty product, man. That’ll get someone dead real quick—most likely me. That one will blow a hole in a guy the size of my fist. I’ve seen it firsthand.” He made the statement with pride, which only backed up him being crazy as fuck, but crazy or not, he did good work.
“We’ll take everything you’ve got that’s not traceable,” Danny told him. “How much do you want?”
“You’re using them against the SOBs?” his cousin asked.
Danny nodded. “Maybe the White Reapers, too.”
“I hate those bastards,” Blister muttered, shaking his head. “They’re into dogfighting.”
Everyone had that one cruelty they couldn’t ignore, Killian supposed. She couldn’t really judge him—she liked animals more than people, too. “And probably Rank,” she added.
Blister met her gaze and held it for a second. Then a slow smile split his face. Yep, completely unhinged. “Hell, girl. You can have ’em.”
Killian returned the smile, just as she became aware of the sound of approaching motorcycles.
“Company,” Dash said, jaw tight as he grabbed ammo for the shotgun out of the trunk.
“Jesus Christ,” Danny swore, shoving at Blister’s shoulder. “Grab what you can and get the fuck inside.”
Killian snatched another couple of guns from the car before Dash shoved her in front of him, toward the clubhouse. A shot rang out, the bullet ripping a hole in the tire not two feet away from her leg.
The White Reapers had arrived.
Killian dropped to her knees just inside the clubhouse door. Against the wall, she checked both guns for ammo before gripping one in each hand.
“Come on,” Dash said, jerking his head toward the hall. “Upstairs. We’ll have a better vantage.”
She didn’t argue, just jumped to her feet and started after him, back bent to keep low. As they ran past a window, the glass shattered in a hail of bullets. Pulverized glass glittered on the left arm of her sweater like a dusting of snow.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest. That was a little too close. Shit.
“You okay?” Dash asked, brow furrowed.
“I’m good.” And she was. She had to keep her head clear, her focus tight. The only way she was going to save Shannon was to make it out of the house alive, so that was her only option. “Keep going.”
They ran upstairs, Killian hot on his heels. One of the corner rooms had windows on two of its walls, giving them each a good view of the yard and street below. Dash opened one of the windows while Killian opened the other—just enough to stick the barrel of a gun through.
Dash fired and a biker with a sawed-off shotgun dropped to his knees on the pavement below. He wasn’t dead, but blood soaked the left thigh of his jeans. He lifted his gun toward the window and Dash shot again. This time the bullet pierced the biker’s throat. He fell back and was still.
Killian fired at another, but missed with her first shot. The second hit him in the shoulder. The third took his knee out from under him. His head bounced off the pavement as he fell. He stayed down.
By this time, the rest of the gang had realized where the shooting was coming from. Killian dove to the floor just in time to avoid a flurry of bullets fired in her direction. She threw her arms over her head to shield herself from the glass and wood splinters that rained down on top of her, then popped back up and returned fire. A Reaper dropped, a small circle in the center of his forehead.
It was so easy.
“Kill?” Dash said.
She didn’t move.
“Killy!” he yelled.
She moved, whipping around so that her back hit the wall. A bullet flew through the window and embedded itself in the ceiling. It would have buried itself in her brain if she hadn’t listened to Dash. Their gazes locked. All she could do was nod at him to let him know she was all right. She wasn’t going to freeze again, not when both of their lives depended on it. She could catalog all the things wrong with her later and add cold-blooded killer to the list.
Her hands shook as she gripped the guns. She took a breath and forced it out slowly, calming her nerves and pounding heart before firing her own weapon out the window once more.
