His Dirty Girl

by Faye Byrd

  “Where is his?”

  “On his forearm.”

  FOURTEEN

  Crashing

  Randi

  “No,” I snap, glaring at this sexy motherfucker. “I’m not letting you use two of your guys to watch over me. I’ll be at work, inside the fucking hospital, while they twiddle their goddamn thumbs outside. It’s not fucking happening.”

  We’re standing by my car just before I leave for my shift, while the rest of the MC are preparing to go after Jackson. Just thinking his name causes chills to slither down my spine. If that rat fucker lived through that burning building, then he’s the luckiest son-of-a-bitch on earth.

  “You can’t fucking stop me.” Enzo returns my glare, thumbing his cigarette to the dirt. “I say where my men go and who they watch over.”

  “Don’t piss me off before work,” I warn, snatching open my car door and tossing my purse inside. “Justice can go with me, but everyone else is with you.” I step back over, pressing myself against his sexy, hard body. “I need you to be safe.”

  His stance softens just a smidge, and he wraps his arms around my back. “I will be,” he says, his voice soft and silky. “But my focus will be less sharp if I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, you know the solution to that is to let me call out and join you.”

  I hike a bitch brow, knowing he won’t go for it. Not this time, and I understand. There are two other lives at stake, and having me there will only stretch Enzo’s priorities thinner. Even though I can be of help, Enzo’s main focus will be my safety, and that could be to the detriment of Lois and Joshua.

  That’s the only reason I’m allowing him to do this without me.

  “Not happening.” He pecks my lips. “Now, let Wyndall come with you.”

  I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Fine, but they’re gonna be some bored motherfuckers.”

  “Better them bored than you hurt.”

  I don’t respond, instead lifting to my tiptoes and shoving my tongue in his mouth. My hands run up his chest and tangle in his pretty waves, tugging just enough to force a grunt. All my girly parts tighten, and I twist my head to dive deeper. I want to tattoo his taste in my mind to never ever forget.

  “You better be safe,” I say after wrenching my lips away. “And tell Joshua I’m sorry for doubting him.”

  “You can tell him yourself after work.” He winks and whistles loudly to gain Justice and Wyndall’s attention. “She’s ready, boys. Guard her with your lives.”

  Both men fist-bump their president as they pass on the way to mount their HOGs. There’s no being inconspicuous today. Enzo wants the entire fucking city to know that his girl is under the watchful eyes of the Dirty Lions MC.

  “You off at five?” He shoves my door closed and leans in the window. At my nod, he smirks. “I’ll see you then.”

  “You better.”

  The ride to the hospital passes quickly, and by the time I arrive, I’m thankful I have somewhere else to focus my energy. I love my fucking job, and on a day like today, when so much could go wrong, I need it more than ever.

  “Could you guys give me a little space?” I ask, getting out of my car. There’s a bike on either side. “It’s not like my car needs protection.”

  “How do you know that?” Justice asks. “Someone could plant a bomb or some shit.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss, his thought making sense. “I suppose.”

  “Just let us be overprotective until this is over,” Wyndall says, hanging his helmet on his handlebars and shaking out his long hair. “By the time you get off, all this will be over.”

  I nod my head. “And if something goes wrong, you’ll barge into that hospital and get me, right?”

  “Damn straight.” Justice shoves a finger toward the entrance. “Now get on in there.”

  I make it inside and into the locker room to store my purse before clocking in and getting straight to work. Today, I’m on the labor and delivery floor, and it’s my favorite shift to work. I’m only tending to mothers who’ve already had their babies, taking their temperature and blood pressure regularly, but it’s much better than working in the ER, where you never know what you might see.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. This is Crescent City and we don’t have a lot of violence, but there was a car accident victim back when I was only an intern, and that’s the day I realized how crucial my job is. The nurses handled that man with professionalism and care, and they’re probably the only reason he’s still alive today.

  I was in awe.

  And it made me want this profession even more.

  “Randi,” Rhonda calls as I leave a patient’s room. “Go ahead and take lunch. I’ll finish the last two patients.”

  I look to the clock: eleven thirty-nine. “Thanks.”

  Rhonda isn’t completely in the know, but she’s aware that something big and potentially dangerous is happening today. She was actually surprised to see me this morning—she knows me well—so her giving me this time to sneak away and check my phone is her being kind, and I really appreciate it.

  I take the elevator down two floors and wind through the hallways, stopping first in the locker room to grab my phone and then heading to the tiny break room. It’s little more than a closet with a microwave and water fountain, but it’s the small round table that I’m looking for.

  Settling into a chair and rocking back on two legs, I scroll my phone. Nada. No texts, no missed calls, nothing. So I bring up Wyndall’s number and shove it against my ear.

  He answers on the first ring. “Yeah.”

  “You haven’t heard anything yet?”

  “They checked in about an hour ago,” he replies. “They were just leaving the clubhouse.”

  “Really?” I’m frustrated that three hours have passed and they’re just getting started.

  “It’s cool, Randi,” he says in a soothing tone. “If I’ve learned anything in the past few years, it’s that Enzo knows what he’s doing. I promise to send you a text as soon as I know they’re clear.”

  “Fucking fine.” I huff, dropping my chair legs to the floor. “Not a second later.”

  I end the call and shove my phone into my scrub pocket. It’s not my usual practice, but that’s exactly where it’s going to stay until I get some kind of word that everyone is safe … or fucking dead or a mix of the two. I just need to know as soon as possible. I even turn up the ringer in case of an emergency.

  The whine of the hinges on the always open door causes the hairs on my arm to stand on end, but all I see is a blur as a figure tackles me to the ground. The chair legs squeal against the worn tile and a breath huffs out of me as I land on the floor with a fucking thud, a hand closed tightly over my mouth.

  For a split second, I’m frozen fucking stupid as the dark-headed man leers at me from above. But I refuse to allow all of Enzo’s training to go to waste. My eyes scan the room, looking for anything that can assist me as I buck my hips in hopes of knocking him off balance.

  When none of that works, I lick his gross sweaty palm. It’s the most fucking disgusting thing I’ve done in a long damn time, but it works. He draws his hand back in horror, and I let out a small scream before I’m slapped stupid. I’m stunned for a brief second before his hands close around my throat.

  I panic at first, but Enzo and I have been through this exact position, and I draw on all the love I have for my fucking Lion. He isn’t straddling my waist, so I pull my knees back and plant my feet in his stomach at the same time as I twist my body. It provides enough momentum where I’m able to roll away from him. He grabs at me, but I use my legs to kick as I scoot farther backward. When I’ve put a small amount of distance between us, I quickly jump to my feet.

  With my small size as an advantage, I’m able to catch him before he can stand and deliver a knee to his face. He grunts but doesn’t fall back to the floor. I deliver another kick to his knee and jump back as he tries to grab me. Now we’re on even standing, and I just might have a fucking chance.
/>
  “I’m gonna kill you, bitch,” he says, bringing his fists up for hand to hand combat.

  “Not today, motherfucker,” I snarl, unleashing a flurry of kicks.

  Because I’m so much smaller than him, I’m able to dance and dash out of the way most of the time. But every once in a while, he lands a hit, and I stumble. It’s a solid punch to my chest that sends me crashing to the floor face first. He straddles my back before I can catch my breath and wraps his large forearm around my throat from behind. Light dances on the edges of my vision.

  He brings his lips down to my ear. “Told ya, bitch.”

  I’m almost to the point of giving up, but his words reinvigorate me, and I fall limp. His hold relaxes only slightly, and I use it to my advantage. I drop my head even further down before slamming it back into his smug fucking face. Not wasting any time, I crawl toward a butter knife that’s lying against the kick panel of the cabinet. He’s trying to pull my legs, but I stretch my hand out and barely grip it before he’s dragging me backward by my leg.

  It happens all at once. The momentum of his yank, coupled with me twisting toward him at the same time as he’s lunging for me again, gives me all I need to send the dull knife plunging into his jugular. He gasps, but it doesn’t stop his forward progress. This isn’t a fucking movie, so he doesn’t die instantly. He continues trying to grip my throat, but he’s weaker now, dying as blood leaves him a large spurts. I only need to fight him off until he passes out from lack of blood flow to his brain.

  The next minute feels like thirty, but he finally collapses—right the fuck on top of me. I roll him off me and scoot away, scrambling for my phone, my hands shaky and my breaths coming out in short bursts. Tears pool in my eyes when I see the screen. It’s shattered, and I slam the motherfucker against the tile in frustration, pulling myself to my feet and stomping it for good measure.

  I stumble out of the tiny room, looking for some-fucking-body to help me. Jesus. Why in the hell would they hide us away where there’s no one around like that? I follow two hallways before I finally see a person, and even then, it’s a janitor.

  “Help,” I say, hurrying toward him. “A man. He tried to kill me.” His eyes widen as he looks behind me. “He’s dead. Please, call 911. Sheriff Dawson is my father.”

  “I got you,” he says, pulling out his phone with one hand while guiding me toward the nearest nurses’ desk with the other. “I need to report an attack at the hospital. The lady says she’s the sheriff’s daughter.”

  Everything speeds up then, and it’s all a blur. At some point later, I’m in a cubicle in the ER with Rhonda standing over me. Both Justice and Wyndall are inside the hospital, one in a chair in the corner and the other standing guard in the ER waiting room. My father’s already taken my statement, and he’s off with the coroner as they collect the body. There’s been no word from Enzo since they had eyes on the cabin, and beyond contacting Mikey, there’s no other way to reach him.

  “I can’t believe someone tried to kill you,” she says, taking my pulse.

  I’m humoring her because I’m fine, just a little shaken up. “You?” I snort. “How do you think I feel? He almost succeeded.”

  Her eyes narrow, but not in the way that means she’s about to chew my ass. They narrow in the way that means she’s contemplating something. “Where’s Enzo?” She looks from me to Justice and back again. “There’s no way he wouldn’t be here by now. What the fuck’s going on, Randi?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but loud chatter and running footsteps sound outside my cubicle. Rhonda’s brows furrow. “I’ll be right back.”

  She disappears, and at the exact same second, Justice’s phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket and answers. I’m barely able to process the following events as they happen in quick succession. Rhonda steps back inside, her face white as a ghost. Sirens sound from the bay, and Justice stands.

  An ambulance.

  No.

  Two of them.

  As I look between the pair of them, it doesn’t take much to realize that something is very fucking wrong. Panic has me on my feet before anyone can stop me. Just as I pull the curtain back, a gurney rushes by, and I’m barely able to make out the body it’s carrying for all the blood.

  But those blond waves are unmistakable.

  FIFTEEN

  It All Falls Down

  Enzo

  “Hold up,” Mikey says from the passenger seat of the van, his laptop perched on his knees. “I’m picking up some current. Let me figure it out before we advance our position.”

  I bring us to a halt on a dirt road that runs parallel to the Smith River. “What kind of currents are we talking?”

  “Could be power line interference or it could be electronics like cameras or a security system,” he responds, plucking away at the keys. “It’s faint, but I still want to investigate.”

  In the back of the van, Jameson, Mad Dog, and Tank are making sure all our weapons are locked and loaded. There can’t be any mistakes with this mission. I inadvertently allowed that fuck to live, so if anything happens to Joshua or Lois, it’s all on me. I’ll never be able to live with myself.

  “I can’t identify the source,” Mikey says, cutting his eyes toward me. “Ease on up the road; just take it slowly.”

  “How far away are we?” My fists tighten around the wheel.

  “About a half mile up, there’ll be a drive on the right. That’s where we enter the property, and it leads to the four old cabins.” Mikey clicks some keys and angles the monitor toward me, putting his finger on a brown dot. “We’ll park at the first cabin, and you guys will go the rest of the way on foot.” He trails his finger down two more dots to the third one. “He’s here.”

  We’ve been over all this, but looking at an area on a map isn’t the same as driving through it, so having the satellite view helps a fucking lot. Mikey’s still my favorite Dirty Lion, and he was awarded his patch after the first showdown in Pacific Shores. It took Jameson another thirteen months to earn his.

  “Here.” He points to a path that’s hardly noticeable. It’s grown over with brush and almost closed together entirely. “It doesn’t look like it’s had any recent traffic.”

  “It doesn’t,” I agree, which makes me curious. “How sure are we that this is the right fucking place?”

  “Stop!” he yells, scaring the shit out of me.

  I slam on the brakes. “What the fuck?”

  “There’s a sensor.” He opens his door and leaves his laptop on the seat. “Let me check it out.”

  “Pfft.” I get out of the van and pull my gun from my waistband. It’s not fucking likely I’ll allow him to be some kind of sitting duck. “I’ll keep watch,” I say, gun ready and eyes shifting.

  He kneels down at a small pine and points to a small tan-colored box. “It’s a motion detector.”

  “Can we disable it?”

  “Not without warning him,” Mikey says, standing to survey the area. “But we can make another entrance.” He motions to the brush that’s surrounding the drive. “Let’s try to find a spot where we can drive the van through.”

  “Damn, I like you.” I clap him on the shoulder and shove my gun back into my waistband, heading for the back doors of the van and pulling them open. “Come on, fuckers. Let’s try to find a way around his notification system.”

  “For real?” Mad Dog asks, smoothing his long beard. “I guess he learned a small lesson from last time.”

  My jaw tightens and my neck muscles flex. “He won’t be lucky enough to have the same outcome as last time.”

  “To be fair,” Tank says, pulling a machete from the back of the van, “he wasn’t lucky last time. Did you see that man’s face and arms? I wanna know how he got fixed up without it being on the news and shit.”

  “That’s a good fucking point.” My mind wonders then, as it’s a question we haven’t asked before now. “That means he had help.”

  “Damn right it does.” Mad Dog surveys the brush lin
e on the right of the drive. “Looks like we might be able to clear a path through here wide enough to pull the van through.”

  I step over and take a closer look. There’re a few small pines, but other than that, it’s a lot of briars and weeds. “Looks like it’ll work. You three do that, and I’m gonna have Mikey check into that shit about his burns.” I pause by Tank, clapping his shoulder. “Thanks for mentioning that shit. It could be an important piece to this fucking puzzle.”

  My VP, our resident nomad, and Jameson get to work on clearing the way for the van, and I jump back into the driver’s seat, cocking a brow at Mikey. “We need to see if we can find any shit about Jackson being in a hospital.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Yeah, that could be huge.”

  It’s silent as his fingers fly over the keys. It only takes about three minutes before he lets out a triumphant “aha” as he scans the screen. He looks up and turns it to me.

  I shake my head. “Fill me in. I ain’t reading that shit.”

  “Looks like a man who was severely burned was dropped off at San Francisco General the night we rescued Randi,” he says, scanning the screen as he explains. “Bingo Banks says he found him under a bridge on the Central Freeway.”

  “Isn’t that the fuck Randi killed in Redding?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Mikey replies, pointing to the screen. “It says the man had seven bullet wounds, but he also had amnesia. He had no clue who he was or what had happened to him. Between the hospital and the burn center, he spent fourteen months before he was able to leave on his own two feet.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss, tugging my hair. “Let me guess. Bingo Banks agreed to give him a home or some shit.”

  “It doesn’t say,” Mikey says, tapping away on his keys. “But a Banks is listed as the owner of this property we’re entering. A Thomas Banks.”

  “Who’s related to Bingo how?”

  It only takes a few more clicks before he’s looking my way. “Grandfather. He retired to Florida, though.”

  “So that fucking nomad saved him somehow and was trying to help him get revenge.”