Family Ties

by KB Winters

  “I know you and your family aren’t too fond of the Ashby family, right?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well then, maybe we can help each other out. You tell me what you know about Mueller, and maybe I won’t throw you and your dad in jail.” She was so close to getting my cooperation, too.

  “Well, since I haven’t done a damn thing to justify incarceration, I’d like to see you try.”

  “Just tell me what you know about Mueller.”

  “Not much,” I told her with a shrug. “He’s a creepy old priest with a hard on for very young girls.”

  “Which you supplied?”

  The snark in her voice wasn’t lost on me, and I knew I’d have to reconcile my own part in the family business with what happened to me, but not today and not with this bitch.

  I stood a little taller, enjoying the four-inch height advantage I had over her. If only there wasn’t a screen door between us.

  “You have me confused with my father and brother, who actually ran the business. Then again, your boys caught him and let him go so many times, maybe they were supplying you with incredibly young girls.” Ronan had always bragged that he had a man on the inside of the FBI and after the third arrest which resulted in nothing, I believed him.

  I could see that information shocked Agent Beck, and I had to work hard to suppress my smile.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. Was the surprise mock or real?

  “I don’t really give a fuck. I’ve told you what I know about Mueller, but the FBI is filled with repressed Catholics, isn’t it? Maybe you should aim your questions at your fellow brothers.”

  Just then Agent Beck’s phone rang. She turned her head away when she answered. She reported to the caller she was waiting to speak to Charlie and then hung up abruptly.

  She put her phone away and pulled out a business card. “I can’t wait any longer. Please give this to him and tell him to call me.”

  Beck stuck the card between the wrought iron decorations on the door with an angry sigh. “And if you think of anything else, give me a call. Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Ms. Rhymer.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” I told her with confidence. I wouldn’t be around much longer, I could feel it. There was a static electricity in the air, the still tension that filled the air just before the shit hit the fan.

  It was coming, I just knew it.

  I locked the door after Agent Beck’s departure and went to the kitchen where a window still allowed sunshine to filter into the room, so I could think. Details that were, for a time, just bits and pieces of information had started to come together.

  Sort of.

  I didn’t have it all worked out, but I grabbed an empty notepad from Charlie’s junk drawer and jotted down everything I could remember to see how it all fit, and that’s how Charlie found me a few minutes later when he came down from his shower.

  “What did she want?”

  “To talk to you about Brendan.” I pushed the card toward him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said before closing the notepad and looking up into worried gray eyes. “Just putting some things together in my mind.”

  “Things like what?” I bristled at the hint of suspicion in his tone, but I let it go on a slow exhale.

  “Do you think Ronan could be an informant for the FBI?” It made a twisted sort of sense, except the man I grew up with hated snitches with a passion, had killed more than his fair share. Snitches were the few occasions when Ronan actually got his hands dirty.

  Charlie gave the question some thought before he answered. “It’s possible in this line of business.”

  “So, you think he’s an informant?”

  “No, Savannah. I’m saying it’s possible.” Now Charlie was being shifty, and I had to ask myself why.

  “So he could be a snitch, but he could have a good reason for it?”

  His lips twitched from the force of holding back a smile and, dammit, I wanted to kiss him. But I needed answers. “We all have our reasons for the shit we do, right?”

  I told him about Agent Beck’s surprise at seeing me on the other side of the door.

  “She wanted information on Mueller, because she obviously has some anger toward the Ashby family, but she seemed genuinely surprised that Ronan had been let go so many times by the FBI. Shouldn’t she already know that? Something doesn’t add up.”

  “No, it doesn’t and I’ll look into it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Ronan might or might not be an FBI informant, but he definitely had someone in the FBI on the payroll. I knew because I prepared the envelope of cash myself every month. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way, right? Ronan made no effort to find me, didn’t threaten one asshole to see if I was dead or alive, which means he just doesn’t give a fuck about me.”

  And that only made me more determined to find out his secrets, maybe expose them before I left town for good.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Charlie

  “Fuck, Vannah.” I gripped her hips tight as she rode me like a stallion, bucking her hips against mine while her body jerked at the force of her orgasm. “Yes.”

  “Charlie.” That was it, just my name on a breathless whisper as the last thread of pleasure left her body and she collapsed on top of me. “So good,” she murmured and swiped her tongue across my nipple.

  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” She yelped when I switched our positions, my cock still buried deep in her wet cunt, only deeper now that I was on top.

  “Not kill, just maim, but only a little.” She giggled as her pussy clamped down on my cock. Tiny aftershocks made her whole body tremble beneath me. “What are you gonna do about it?”

  I gripped her hips hard and pushed into her, hard and fast and frantic because, goddammit, I just couldn’t get enough of this woman. My hips didn’t stop to ponder why it was Savannah Rhymer of all people to make me react this way. My cock didn’t care either, I just wanted her.

  Her.

  No-fucking-body else.

  Her second orgasm rose, forceful and electric, the pulsing of her pussy swallowing my cock to untold depths, sending bolts of thunder through my bloodstream.

  “Charlie, oh yes! Fuck yeah, Charlie!” Her body twitched and convulsed, bringing plump tits within tasting distance of my mouth and I reached out, pulled a soft pink nipple between my teeth and nibbled. Hard.

  “Fuu-uuuck!” she groaned.

  I grunted as her pussy tightened even harder, tearing the orgasm from my body and milking my cock until it was dry.

  “Fuck me,” I said as I licked under her tit and she moaned again. The sound shot straight to my cock for one last spurt of jizz. “Damn, girl.”

  Her deep, throaty laughter made her pussy jerk my cock off some more, and I collapsed on top of her, pressing small kisses to every inch of her skin that I could.

  “I might be in love with your cock, Charlie.”

  I laughed and pulled back. “Just my cock?” Wait, what the fuck was I asking?

  Savannah’s hands went to my face, cupping it gently, like I mattered to her, which was a total mind fuck. I was already confused where this chick was concerned. Now, with my cock buried deep inside her while she gazed up at me like I was the most amazing fucking thing in the world, my heart stopped and my belly clenched.

  “I could very easily love more of you, but that’s not what you want. Soon this chaos will be over, and you’ll be rid of me.”

  As soon as she said the words, I knew the truth. I didn’t want to be rid of Savannah. Not for a fucking day. Not ever.

  “Savannah, we should talk.”

  “I don’t think we should. I’m not in the mood to hear the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I know what this is and what it isn’t.”

  Her tone was believable. She knew this wasn’t meant to be serious, but her blue eyes darkened with disappointment, a look I
had the power to wipe away.

  With just a few words.

  A loud banging sounded downstairs, and in an instant, my cock was cold without the warmth of her hot pussy. Like me, Savannah practically jumped into her clothes and scanned the room for a weapon.

  “Stay here,” I ordered.

  “No fucking way.” She shook her head, and I felt her at my back as I took a step out of my room and crept quietly down the stairs. All the while the banging continued.

  “That sounds like cops,” Savannah said over my shoulder. She was determined to follow me down the stairs.

  “Exactly what I was thinking. Go back upstairs and wait for me. Please, Vannah.”

  She blinked twice and nodded, but she didn’t move.

  “Go. Now. If any cop on the other side of that door is dirty, you’ll be dead.”

  “Okay,” she whispered and turned away, slipping inside my bedroom and leaving the door open just a sliver.

  I made my way downstairs and opened the door to see four uniformed officers and two detectives standing on my porch looking for a fight.

  “Officers. How may I help you?” I knew the drill, but it was always more fun to make the cops do their job.

  “Charles Ellison, we have a few questions for you. You mind stepping outside for a second?”

  I nodded to be polite and said, “What’s this about?”

  You didn’t grow up in an MC without knowing more than the average dumb fuck about the law, about your rights.

  “We have some questions for you.”

  “Okay. Ask away.” They would have broken the security door if I was under arrest.

  One of the detectives stepped forward. “We’ll ask these questions at the station.”

  “Fine. I’ll be out in two minutes and follow you to the precinct.” None of them liked that answer, but the lack of rejections and threats told me exactly what I wanted to know. Three minutes later, I was fully dressed and on my bike, ready for whatever the fuck this was.

  Mayhem PD looked the same as it always did, like every other cop shop around the world. The interrogation room was the same box with three chairs set up around a short, wobbly table. The only difference was the lack of flicker on the fluorescent light overhead. The walls were a combination of olive and puke green, which was strangely more soothing than they probably thought it would be.

  The door opened and instead of the detectives from earlier; it was the woman who had showed up at my house the other day. Wilder, Jag’s son, had put together a file on Agent Beck and her partner, Baxter Marshall, who entered behind her and spoke first, introducing them both.

  “Sorry I missed you the other day, Agent Beck. What’s this about?”

  Beck’s blue eyes glared at me. “We ask the questions.”

  I smiled at her horrible attempt at being the bad cop. “So you’re saying I don’t have a right to know why the federal government had me brought in under false pretenses to question me?”

  Marshall glared back at Addison Beck, who was like a redheaded chihuahua, all bark and bravado, with no bite.

  “We have some questions about Brendan Rhymer. We recently found his body under suspicious circumstances.”

  “Suspicious? Is there any other way for a gangster to die?”

  Agent Beck slammed her petite hands on the metal desk. The sound echoed in the small room. “He was stripped naked and pumped full of lead. You know anything about that?”

  I knew that Jasper and Terry had taken care of wiping the bodies and the scene clean and dumped him at the same shitty motel Savannah had been in, a clear sign to the fucking Black Jacks.

  “Nope. Not a damn thing. Can’t say I’m sorry to hear it, though.”

  “So you’re happy he’s dead?”

  “Aren’t you?” There was no love lost between The Crusaders and the Reckless Bastards, so there was no point pretending otherwise.

  Marshall nodded. “We’re going to need to know your whereabouts when he was murdered.”

  “Of course. When was he murdered?”

  I sat up straight, but not too straight, and let my gaze bounce between the Feds to see how much they would give away.

  Marshall was an open book, a rare honest G-Man, easily offering the details of when Brendan was last seen. Beck though, she was riled up. Angry. Savannah was right. She had ulterior motives.

  “I said we ask the questions.”

  “Okay. If you don’t know when he was murdered, how far back do you want my whereabouts?”

  Marshall sighed. “Let’s start with Thursday, the 25th. That’s when he was last seen alive.”

  “Okay, thank you, Agent Marshall. I was at a bachelor party for Virgil Ashby. He’s married to my cousin, Maisie. The party was at Lucky Lopez’s. You know, the titty bar in the Green Zone? There were at least three dozen people who saw me there.”

  “Bullshit,” Beck roared. “We know you murdered him in retaliation for killing your whores.”

  “Ooh, do I hear jealousy?” I smiled, and Marshall groaned because the chihuahua had just given away an important fact. “My employees were murdered long after the twenty-fifth, Agent Beck. How could I retaliate in advance?”

  “We didn’t say he was killed on the twenty-fifth, we said that’s when he was last seen alive.”

  “Okay, so what day do I need an alibi for? Or, you know what? Maybe this is something I should talk to my lawyer about.”

  Marshall tensed, but Beck was too far gone, too eager to tread lightly. “Maybe your girlfriend would like to know that you’re suspected of murdering her brother?”

  “Trying to shock me, Agent Beck?” I shook my head and turned my gaze to Marshall. “Maybe your partner would like to know you have a personal vendetta against the Ashby family and have been harassing people off the clock.”

  Two sets of eyes widened in shock, but for different reasons. Marshall recovered first. “The titty bar. That’s your alibi?”

  I nodded. “Dude, It’s not just a titty bar. You ever been there? Nice place for the sticks.” I rubbed my crotch, and said, “Go see Hootie and tell her I sentcha.”

  “Your alibi, Mr. Ellison.”

  “Okay. Friday was the bachelor party. Saturday was the wedding, and the reception lasted well into Sunday morning. It was a whole family affair.”

  And it was good to know they were just fishing if they couldn’t even pinpoint his time of death. “Is that all?”

  Beck shook her head so fast, the tight bun uncoiled to reveal thick red curls. “Why is Savannah Rhymer staying at your house?”

  “Found her fucked up on the side of the road. Thought she might be useful in the future. You know how it is.”

  “She looked pretty comfortable there,” Beck insisted, her voice heavy with insinuation.

  I shrugged and stood. “Turns out that I’m a better host than the Black Jacks, but I suspect you already know that Agent Beck.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I was talking out of my ass, but I needed to gauge their reactions. Savannah was a smart woman, and if she suspected there was a Fed helping Ronan, I was inclined to believe her. It wasn’t Beck or Marshall, not that I could tell. “Are we done here?”

  “No,” Agent Beck growled.

  “Yeah, we’re done,” Marshall said a little louder. “Stay in Mayhem.”

  “Home is where the heart is,” I told them with a smile before strolling out into the late morning sunshine, happy to see the heat hadn’t become unbearable. Yet.

  I took an hour for myself to clear my head before I headed to the clubhouse, hitting the long winding roads that surrounded Vegas and Mayhem. I had a lot to think about, and I needed to sort it out on my own before I shared anything with anyone else.

  My mind kept going back to Sadie, having what looked like a romantic dinner with Father Mueller, and what the fuck it could mean. Was it a hate-fuck? Was it a new partnership or was it just a distraction?

  Did she tell Mueller or anyone else I’
d picked up Savannah? Were the Ashby’s now working with The Crusaders and this was all a setup because I refused to get rid of Savannah? That didn’t seem likely given the decades-long bad blood between the two families, but at this point, I couldn’t rule anything out.

  Which only left the other thing I needed to think about, the one person turning my life upside down who had no fucking clue.

  Savannah.

  My feelings for her threatened to cloud my judgment at a time when I needed laser sharp focus and sound judgment. So, before anything else could happen, I needed to figure out how I felt, what I was willing to do about it, and then fucking do it.

  Just fucking do it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Savannah

  Hours passed and Charlie wasn’t back from his chat with the horde of police who showed up on his doorstep this morning. Had they had arrested him? If so, what did that mean for me? More importantly, what was he arrested for and was it just bullshit trumped up charges, or did they have evidence against him?

  Questions, questions, questions. They were killing me. If only I had some answers. Other than a shower and changing into clean clothes that didn’t smell like sex, just in case the police came back for me, I couldn’t focus on anything. Of course, other than that brief excursion to the truck stop café, I hadn’t really left Charlie’s house in days, or was it weeks? So, realistically, they had nothing to pin on me.

  Then again, that woman, Agent Beck, seemed like the type to make up some shit just to have something to hang over my head.

  I needed to be careful. Very fucking careful. I’d packed my bag and left it by the door to my room upstairs on the off chance one of the Reckless Bastards came by to tell me I was no longer welcome. Or worse, one of the Reckless Bitches. Or even worse than that, Maisie. I didn’t know what to expect in the next few hours, so I prepared myself for every eventuality.

  Except one.

  The doorbell rang, and I half-expected it to be the redheaded federal agent or one of Charlie’s MC members. I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly as I made my way to the front door where luckily, the surveillance system hadn’t been fucked with by the young Black Jacks.