by Hart, Gemma
But I had never seen this man. And as a high ranking member of the club, I liked to make sure that I knew everyone the club dealt with.
“What the fuck?!” Raze shouted again. The quiet desert had no response and neither did the man. He only glared up angrily.
“What happened to the deal!” Raze demanded.
“You’re cheating us,” the thin man said. He spit at Raze’s boots. “You pitted me against Manuelo’s cartel but you were cheating both of us. My men and I take great risks delivering our product and you were cheating us out of our fucking money!”
I had never seen such a look of twisted fury cross Raze’s face before. Before any of us could stop him, he pulled out his gun and shot the man clean between his eyes.
“The fuck!” cried out Dozer.
“What are you doing?” Bolt yelled.
Raze only shook his head as a deep fury took hold of him. He shot and killed nearly all the other gunmen before we had been able to get off our bikes and stop him.
The last remaining gunman had been allowed to live but told to run as fast as he could away from here. And he did.
We rode back to the club in silence, calling off the arms deal as a lost cause for the night.
And there the ugly truth had been spilt.
For years, we had thought we had been protecting Low Pointe. We had thought we had been fighting against the bad that surrounded us. But it had been the other way around.
For years, Raze had set up intricate drug, arms, and possibly even human trafficking trades all across the area. He had his finger in almost every big pie worth having a finger in.
While we had been fighting against what we had thought to be gangs and cartels invading our small town, we had actually been fighting against opposing business that threatened to undermine Raze and his hidden empire.
In fact, I had later realized that if it hadn’t been for Raze’s dirty dealings, Low Pointe could actually have been quite safe and peaceful city. There was a chance it could have maybe even prospered.
But Raze being situated in Low Pointe meant all the opposing clubs, cartels, and drug lords were aiming their sights on the small city and its unfortunate citizens.
And as members of the Black Wings who rode under Raze, we had only helped fuel the violence that had harmed and killed so many.
Once I had learned the truth, riding down those same streets, I felt sick. I felt disgusted with myself. I began to see why my dad hadn’t wanted me to join. He must’ve known the truth of the club. He must’ve known but hadn’t told me for fear of the danger it would put me in.
Unable to take the crimes I had participated in, aided in, I had left. I hadn’t said goodbye or left any word. All I had done was leave my leathers behind. That was words enough.
The LA breeze blew against me again. I closed my eyes and tried to let it cool my temper down.
I had thought others riders would leave as well but they didn’t. Nearly all the members had been born and raised in Low Pointe and that was all they knew. Though they felt no goodness about what they were now apart of, they reasoned that at least if they were apart of the drug and arms trade, there were men who could try to keep some kind of line amongst all the other clubs and crime lords.
“We’re not as bad as them,” is what they all told themselves.
I now saw the reasoning behind why my dad had pushed me to get out into the world. Unlike the other members, I had joined the military. I had been deployed to the other side of the world. I had been on bases across a dozen different states.
By knowing what was out there, I wasn’t afraid to see the truth for what it was. Raze was wrong and what he was doing was wrong.
But the other riders didn’t want to lose their only home, their only club and family. They didn’t know of anything else and were too scared to face the truth for what it was. It was too threatening.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket.
And now Raze wanted my help.
And he must want my help bad if he went through the trouble to find my new number.
I had always been the key man when it came to planning our pick ups. It took a certain kind of strategizing to organize a clean pick up. Especially if the payload was sizeable.
You had to pick the right men for the pick up crew. You had to send out recon riders to give you good security. You had to have trust with your dealer and their men. The last part was the most important factor.
And seeing as how Raze was now asking for my help, the deal must be with Manuelo.
After the ambush attack, Manuelo’s cartel had been reluctant to do any dealings with Raze, even after Raze had upped their profit margin. It drove Raze insane since after eliminating several other smaller cartels, Manuelo was the only other reliable dealer.
But for some reason, Manuelo seemed to trust me. And so I had been his point man when he made deals with the Black Wings. But I didn’t help him long. My disgust with myself had soon overwhelmed me and I had left, leaving the Black Wings and Manuelo short.
But now another deal looked like it was on the horizon. And Raze must not have been able to find any other man who could take over my position.
“Fuck!” I muttered to myself as I ran a hand frustratedly through my hair. I looked through the balcony door to make sure no one was out yet.
Although I hated what Raze had done and what the Black Wings eventually became, I did miss the brotherhood. I missed the other riders. Raze was a fucking liar but if there was one thing he said truthfully it was when he had called us brothers.
Black Wings riders were my brothers, fathers, uncles, friends. We shared a deep common history that bound us tighter than anything you could find in most other relationships. It was deeper than blood. It was a brotherhood of the soul.
I hated to think about the riders that were now trapped in the club. I didn’t blame the riders for not leaving. Their families, their homes, were all rooted in Low Pointe. And Low Pointe now had been a dangerous target for years. Black Wings was all that stood between a safe home and family and a spray of rival club bullets.
No, I didn’t blame them.
But I did fucking blame Raze.
He had fucked with a generation of Black Wing riders. He had fucked with a whole city of families who had learned to live in danger and still survive. And he had fucked with me.
It still hurt to know that the man who I had looked at as a second father had betrayed me in such a deep and horrific way. I remembered nights when Raze would give impassioned speeches to the riders about what it meant to be a Black Wing member. We were the only guards against the evil out there, he would say. We would dirty ourselves so that the families of Low Pointe wouldn’t have to. We would stand guard and protect this forgettable little town because no one else would.
But all the while, he had been using us so we could kill off his competition and enlarge his territories.
Goddamn fucker.
I caught something flickering from the corner of my eye.
I looked up and saw Marsha waving frantically at me from the living room, trying to catch my attention. She pointed to Jessa who was getting the final touches from her stylist.
She was dressed and ready and was about to head out.
I nodded.
I took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Forget about Raze. Forget about the past. I felt dirty just thinking about it. I had come out to LA to lose myself in work and to gain distance from that dirty past.
Slowly, I slid open the sliding door. Leaving Raze and the Black Wings out on the balcony, I headed to meet Jessa and escort her out.
Chapter Nine
Rowan
I watched as Jessa kicked off her heels, nearly flinging them at the front dashboard of the SUV.
“Hey!” Marsha cried out as a heel brushed against her front seat.
Jessa gave a giggle that made my body instantly tighten in pleasure. She had such a sweet laugh. It was so unexpectedly open for someone who lived such a cl
osely guarded life.
“I guess you can relax a little now,” I said, eyeing her from the side.
Jessa nodded with a smile as she ran her hand through her loose hair, messing it up which only made her look that much more alluring. She gave me a playful stare through her mussed up hair.
“It’ll feel good to sleep in my own bed again,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
It was clear that the end of a press tour was something she looked forward to. She had finished up another round of interviews and conferences and had finally packed up and checked out of the hotel.
She would be back on the road again to do more press in another two weeks but for two whole weeks she would have time to herself. And it looked like it was something that was important to her.
Jessa relaxed in a way that I hadn’t yet seen her do before. Her shoulders slumped in a free manner and she curled her bare feet up under her as the SUV drove down the freeway.
I had made sure to keep in touch with Feds so that we had a good plan for the two weeks she’d be off-radar from the public. I had thought it best for me to drive Jessa in her own car back to her house but the Feds didn’t want to deviate from her norm.
“Let’s just keep it as regular as possible,” Agent Harrison had said, his voice the usual monotone. “I don’t want to attract any extra attention as to why Jessa Blair has suddenly let go of her driver or who her mysterious new man is.”
“I’m not a mysterious new man,” I protested. “I’m her bodyguard.”
“The press won’t care,” the agent countered. “They’ll run whatever headline will sell papers.”
I sighed. That was true. “What about the stalker?” I asked. “Any new leads?”
“There’s been complete silence so far,” Agent Harrison said grimly.
“Maybe the bastard’s given up. Got too frustrated,” I said. Although this stalker had been quite persistent and pretty sneaky to get by on the Feds, I doubted any Joe Schmo stalker really had enough gumption to carry out any kind of real plan.
Agent Harrison sighed. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice edged with something more than his normal monotone evenness. There was a hint of worry. “This guy’s been pretty consistent in leaving notes. We had been expecting one at the front desk or on the car when she checked out of the hotel but so far nothing. It’s a little suspicious.”
Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it wasn’t.
Either way, I’d do my duty and keep an eye on Jessa and I assured the agents of it.
“I hope April watered the plants,” Jessa mumbled to herself.
I shook free of my reverie and looked at her. “Much of a gardener?” I asked.
She shook her head, smiling. “No but I have a lot of houseplants. It makes the home feel warmer when there’s some green in it,” she said, her large hazel eyes pure and clear as they looked up at me.
Again, I was just struck by how sweet and genuine she was. This girl really did need to watch herself. I could see how some people could easily mistake her sincerity for something much more.
I was also surprised by her good mood. After that fiasco of a lunch with that idiot director, I had thought her mood would be quite down. I had seen plenty of starlets lash out when upset or pissed.
But Jessa was practically glowing. She had been down after the lunch and it was clear she wasn’t in a playful mood for the rest of the day. But today, she looked as if nothing had happened.
“Feeling better?” I asked, purposely keeping my wording vague. If she didn’t want to talk about the lunch, that was her choice. Perhaps she was pretending like it never happened. I half expected her to say that she hadn’t wanted the movie role in the first place. Maybe that David Francetti movies were overrated and not worth her time.
Plenty of stars tried to cover failures when their egos were on the line. And I wouldn’t blame her if she did the same. After all, Jessa Blair was a huge name and to be turned down must’ve hurt her pride quite a bit.
“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes suddenly taking on a more determined glint. “I feel much better. I thought about it all night and I have a plan.” She flipped her long hair over one shoulder. I noticed that she tended to flip her hair whenever she needed a boost of confidence. I felt my lips twitch in amusement whenever I saw it now.
“A plan?” I said. A boycott of Francetti films? Maybe an attempt at another role at a rival studio?
Jessa nodded. “A plan,” she confirmed. She had a faraway look that conveyed a steely determination as she explained her strategy. “As soon as I get home, I’m finding the nearest camera I have and filming an audition for Spring’s Nature. The script’s at home and I already have a good bit of it already memorized. I know exactly the part I’ll do too. There’s a bit where she’s talking to her friend about why she wants to find her mother. It’s good and meaty. I’m going to practice and film until I get it just right. And then I’m sending that reel to David Francetti whether he wants it or not.” Jessa nodded again as if defying anyone to stop her from doing just that. “I’ll audition whether anyone wants me to or not and I’ll be great at it.”
I stared at her.
I had not expected that.
I had expected her to complain to me about how unfair Hollywood was at typecasting. I had expected her to pick apart the director and his flaws. I had expected her to rail against all his films and how they were just all wrong for her. I had expected her to scoff and say she hadn’t wanted the role anyways since she already had a massive empire to her name.
But I had not expected her to keep trying.
I had not expected her to accept the obstacle and then find a way around. Jessa Blair had no problem with anyone seeing her hiccups and moments of failure. Because she knew she would persevere. She would put in her all so that when she walked away, win or lose, she could say there was nothing more she could’ve done that what she did.
I was blown away.
Jessa bit her lip as she nervously flicked her gaze over me. “What?” she asked a little nervously. “You think I’m too forward.” She said it as a statement but I heard the question.
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I think you’re fucking brave.”
A slow wash of deep pink swept across her cheeks. I could see pleasure darkening her eyes. She shyly turned her head away from me but not before I saw the hidden smile that played across her lips.
“We’re here,” the driver said as he pulled up to the gated driveway of Jessa’s understated home.
It was a large one floor post modern home with a lot of its original 1960s details still in place. There were huge sections cut out of the walls and replaced with large floor to ceiling windows, creating a very open and airy space.
I looked over the home with a critical eye for security.
We all stepped out and helped unload Jessa’s luggage. Marsha helped carry in the garment bags and then kissed Jessa on both cheeks before getting back in the car with the driver and the hired car. The driver would drop Marsha off at her home before taking the car back to the service.
Carrying the last of her heaviest bags into the house, I saw Jessa stand in the open foyer of the house, her bare feet on the dark stone tiles, as she breathed in the home, sighing happily.
When she turned around, she jumped a little to see me standing there by the door.
“I thought you were going back with Marsha,” she said, eyeing me a little warily.
I dropped the bags and closed the door behind me. I looked around the main living space. Although it was light and airy and beautiful, it made for a hard defensible space. I could see that Jessa mainly relied on the thick wall of shrubbery and her long driveway to maintain privacy.
She wanted air and space and didn’t want to feel confined even if she was a sought after celebrity.
I could respect that but if my job was to keep her safe, her home was a difficult place to do it in.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jessa protested as I stepped f
urther into the house, looking around, inspecting. “What do you think you are doing?”
I turned around. Without her heels on, she was tiny. I could pick her up with one arm and throw her over my shoulder easily. In fact, I had the sudden urge to do so. Barefoot with her hair running long and free around her, she looked good enough to eat. Her annoyed and perplexed expression only made her that much more tempting.
“How many bedrooms?” I asked.
“Five,” she answered automatically before she huffed a sigh at me. “Shall I call a car for you?” She waved a hand towards the front door, clearly not enjoying having me stomp through her house.
