by T. L Hodel
“Yup,” he exclaimed with a pop. “Just went to bed.”
I looked at my watch and frowned. “What the fuck was she doing up so late?”
“Calm down, Romeo.” Logan chuckled. “She wasn’t sneaking off for a late-night meeting.”
She fucking better not have been!
“She was eating strawberries.”
Strawberries. I’d have to remember that.
“Your girl’s got quite the mouth on her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She told Naomi she smelled like a baby prostitute.” Logan chuckled.
Naomi did smell like a baby prostitute.
I cocked my head, and watched a figure come out of the alley and lean against the motel. He had the demeanor of a dealer, slumped in the shadows looking shady as fuck.
“I told Naomi to stay the fuck away from her,” I said, as the man typed something into his phone. A few seconds later, Jack slipped out of the motel.
Fucking finally.
“You didn’t really think she’d listen, did you?”
Yes, I fucking did!
Jack nervously shuffled down the sidewalk with his shirt half tucked into his dirty jeans, wearing a pair of mismatched shoes. His habit may have led him to steal from us, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew we were coming.
Logan groaned, “Bitch acts like you’re her boyfriend or some shit.”
Naomi was nothing more than a warm hole, a convenient way to get off. I never gave her any reason to think otherwise, but that was a problem to address later. Right now, I had other things to deal with.
Jack met up with his dealer and said something. The hooded figure didn’t look happy. Guess he already blew through the money he took from us. I better get this shit done, before the dealer decided to cut his losses.
“Gotta go,” I said, hanging up on Logan and snatching the walkie off my passenger seat. “Move in.”
Four squad cars rolled in immediately, lighting up the dark sky with their red and blues. It was amazing how quickly a couple of cops could change the scene. The bums hanging out on the corner disappeared, while the hookers straightened up and attempted to act nonchalant. Jack and his dealer spun on their heels and rushed down the alley. Tires squealed against asphalt as the squad cars screeched to a stop. Two cops jumped out and ran down the alley after Jack. Everything seemed to be going fine until gunfire echoed through the air.
“For fuck sakes.” I grumbled, as the rest of the cops took cover behind their car doors, with weapons drawn.
A voice finally crackled over the walkie. “Subject secured.”
“Hold him,” I ordered, as I tossed the walkie and stepped out of my Jeep. I took a second to stretch my tired limbs before sauntering over to the cluster of squad cars. “Who the fuck fired?”
One of the cops, Alex or Allen I think, answered, “Wendel. One of them pulled a gun.”
Probably the dealer. Jack wasn’t dressed to conceal weapons. Not to mention the fucker was too much of a coward to take a shot at a cop.
“You want me to do something about that?” Alex or Allen asked, tipping his chin behind me.
I turned to find the younger hooker openly staring at us with curiosity shining in her bright eyes. The other one knew this wasn’t a regular shake down. She was slapping her arm, trying to draw her attention away.
“Take her to Malum.”
Alex or Allen cocked his head and eyed the older hooker. “I’m not sure the other one will let us take her.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d watched her protect the girl all night, steering her away from questionable Johns, and sheltering her from druggies walking the street. Strange considering the shithole they resided in.
“Then take her, too,” I murmured, and headed down the alley. Nothing wrong with more pussy. Besides, the younger one might be more cooperative with her protector there.
The closer I got to Jack’s whiny fucking voice, the more it clawed at the back of my brain, slowly picking at what was left of my nerves. I’d been trying to track him down for three days now and knew more about the asshole than I wanted to.
“Come on guys,” Jack pleaded, on his knees with the barrel of a Glock pressed to the back of his head. “We can work something out. You want to take down Goncho? I can help? I know who his clients are.”
“Thief not enough for you, Jack?” I tsk-ed, stepping out of the shadows. “You turning snitch now too?”
The color drained from his face, as he quietly muttered, “Shit.”
Yeah shit, asshole!
I walked over to the dealer, who was groaning on the ground, blood oozing out of a bullet wound in his calf. He was young. Early twenties maybe. Too bad he wouldn’t see his next birthday.
“Goncho’s one of our clients,” I said, holding my hand out for Wendel’s gun, which he promptly gave me. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I, Jack?”
“I-I wasn’t serious.”
I glanced down at the dealer. “How much of our money did you give this piece of shit?”
“The name’s Don, dick,” the dealer growled up at me. “And that prick owes me ten grand.”
“Well, let me help you with that,” I said, pulling the slide back, and popping a bullet in the chamber.
“No wait . . .” Don pleaded, throwing his arm up.
I squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet through his head before he could finish. A loud bang echoed through the air as blood sprayed the ground and Don’s arm flopped onto the street beside a growing pool of red.
Jack hunched over and hurled.
Pussy.
“You should be thanking me, Jack,” I frowned at the blood on my boots. I liked these boots. “I just wiped your debt clean.”
“Jesus, Micha,” Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, “you could’ve paid him off.”
“Don’t you think you’ve cost us enough already?” I asked, passing Wendel back his gun.
“Your father –”
“I’m not my father.”
He’d be lucky to deal with my father. From the quiver in Jack’s chin, I guess he knew that.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Mind explaining to me why I found our accountant two towns over in a shitty motel then?”
“I was visiting my sister.”
I knew for a fact Jack didn’t have family. He only had a wife, who was currently working off his debt at my father’s club. In my experience there were certain phases people went through when they knew they were fucked. The first was usually some sort of lie to get out of the situation. Whatever. I’d play along.
“What’s her name?”
“Tanya.”
“What does she do?”
“She a waitress.”
“Where?”
“Buffalo Jim’s.”
“Uh huh,” I said, eyeing Jack. He’d obviously thought this out. “Maybe we should go pay your sister Angie a visit?”
“Go ahead. It’s just down the street.”
I smirked. “Thought you said her name was Tanya?”
“I-I-I . . .” Jack hung his head and sighed.
Ah, the sweet sound of defeat.
“What are you going to do?”
I furrowed my brow at him. “What do you think?”
That’s when it hit him – how completely and utterly fucked he was. Fear settled in Jack’s features as he looked up at me with desperation in his dark eyes. Why couldn’t people die with a little dignity? Accept the fate of their choices, instead of giving me that pathetic look. Did they honestly think I’d take pity on them?
“Micha, please,” Jack pleaded, in a shaky voice. “I’ll pay you back. I swear.”
“And how are you going to do that? With the sixty-three cents in your bank account or the house that’s about to be foreclosed on?”
“I have a friend. He can get his hands on a ‘67 Shelby. Logan likes cars.”
Ah, bargaining, phase two.
“If Logan wanted a ‘67
Shelby, he’d buy one. Why would he want a stolen car?”
“I can get him a good deal.”
“So,” I huffed, already bored, “you expect us to wipe your debt clean, and Logan still has to pay for it? I thought you were an accountant, Jack? How’s that good business sense?”
“Killing someone before they pay you back isn’t good business sense, either.”
“Sure, it is.” I argued. “I doubt your replacement will make the same mistake when he hears what happened to you.”
“What about my wife? You can have her . . . just let me go.”
I sighed. “We already have your wife.”
“She has sisters. One of them is only fifteen. Young and fresh, easy to train.”
“Training takes time. Not to mention the cost of paying off family members, and the authorities. It takes a lot to make someone disappear.” I looked down at Jack and said, “I’ve seen your wife, and I don’t think her sister’s worth it.”
Jack’s wife wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t exactly pretty either. Lucky for her, some guys were into the plain thing.
“But –”
I waved my hand, cutting him off, and tipped my head at Wendel. “Take him.”
“Wait!” Jack called out. “You don’t want to do this, Micha . . . I know things. Things you don’t want people to know!”
Threatening, phase three.
“Is that right? Who are you going to tell those things to? The cops? Well, here they are.” My arms swung through the air, arcing over the uniformed men on our payroll. “Go ahead. Talk. See who they side with. A sniveling little weasel like you, or the men who line their pockets and pay their kids’ tuition.”
Jack knew how far our reach went. Information was everything and the dirt we had on people could not only ruin their careers, but their lives. On the off chance that someone didn’t care, they were simply removed.
“What about Riley Adams?”
My eyes narrowed. My mouse was none of his fucking business! Just hearing her name on his fucking lips pissed me off.
“Does she know what you guys did to her mother?”
Technically, we didn’t do anything to Maria. That was all Ryker. If Derek had just signed the contract, then Ryker wouldn’t have been sent in at all. The Order had rituals. Before we could take a wife, we needed the male head of house’s permission, and then the girl was branded. I gave Riley hers when she was seven. Three small triangles just under the hairline at the back of her neck. Even drugged out of her mind, she fought. My mouse was a fiery little thing. I wondered if she remembered that?
Jack sneered and continued his threat. “I think someone should tell her?”
I barked out a laugh. “And who’s going to do that Jack? You? Haven’t you heard?” The smile dropped off my face. “Dead men don’t talk.”
“You know, you really shouldn’t record stuff like that. You never know who’ll see it.” he explained, “I am curious though . . . I heard the sheriff shot Ryker, but he was tied to a chair when the gun went off . . .”
Only four people knew that tape existed. Not even my father knew about it. How the fuck did scum like Jack find out?
“Which one of you was it?” he asked, tilting his head, “My money’s on Preston. He’s never been right in the head. It couldn’t have been Logan, but . . .”
My eyes rolled his way, and he smiled.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Little bastard finally stood up to daddy?”
I was going to make it quick and easy. A bullet between the eyes, done. Now, he’d thoroughly tested my patience.
I took a deep breath, rolled my neck, and squatted to his level. “You really are stupid, Jack. If such a tape did exist, and Preston was in, what do you think he’d do to the person who had it? As you said, he’s never been right in the head.”
That was an understatement. Preston wasn’t just wrong in the head; he was completely fucked up. Other than his sister and the other Knights, he didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. Including his parents. And it wasn’t some rebellious urge or loner tendencies. My father, a psychologist, diagnosed Preston as a sociopath. He literally couldn’t feel things like guilt and compassion. There was no conscience speaking up in the back of his head, which made him one scary motherfucker.
I smirked and slapped Jack’s cheek. “I guess you’ll find out just how true that statement is.”
With that, I nodded at the officer behind him, who immediately drug Jack away, kicking and screaming.
“What do you want me to with this?” Wendel asked, kicking the dead dealer.
I had other things on my mind other than wondering what to do with a dead piece of shit. Like finding that fucking tape . . . But the last thing I needed was one of these idiots telling my father I was more concerned with something Jack said, than cleaning up. No one could know what Logan did. Killing a King – even a sick fuck like Ryker – was forbidden. It wouldn’t matter that he did it to save Mase.
I slapped my hand on Wendel’s shoulder. “You took down a drug dealer. Good job making the streets safer Officer Wendel.” Furthering someone’s career went a long way in ensuring loyalty. “I look forward to reading about your commendation.”
With that I left, shooting Logan and Preston a text. I told them to meet me at the basement, where the Order did the messier jobs. An underground chamber, hidden in the last place anyone would look – under Ashen Springs police station. I wasn’t looking forward to watching Preston and Logan work over Jack. One was bad enough, but when you combined a sociopath and sadist, things got . . . messy. Tonight was a cluster fuck, but tomorrow my little mouse officially became mine, and I got to play.
I turned the ignition on my Jeep, and pulled away from the curb. Riley had no idea what was coming for her. Would she fight it? My dick hardened at the thought.
I hoped she did.
Chapter Five
Riley
Paisley came bursting into my room at some ungodly hour, all happy and chipper. On a good day, I barley tolerated morning people. And that was after a good night’s sleep. Which, thanks to Logan, was pretty much impossible. I kept waking up, expecting to see Micha standing at the foot of my bed. The last place anyone would find Micha Kessler was in my bedroom. Unless he was shoving me away, because God forbid, I taint his space, the guy couldn’t even stand to touch me.
Worked for me.
The prick was on the top of my ‘stay the fuck away from me’ list. A list Paisley was quickly becoming part of. Her over-the-top bubbly personality was beyond annoying. Apparently, we were spending the day setting up my room. Yay. And then we were going to the spa. Double yay. Next, she’d be dragging me to garden parties, and tea with the ladies. The fact that she managed to make it out of my room unscathed, was nothing short of a miracle.
“Up and at em sleepyhead,” Paisley called from out in the hall. “We’ve got a busy day.”
If I stayed under the blanket and pretended to be dead, would she leave me alone?
“Ugh!” I groaned, throwing the blanket off my head and slapping my arms down on the bed. Who was I kidding? She was probably waiting out there with a plate of cookies and milk.
Grumbling, I rolled over to snatch the elastic off my bed, and threw my uncontrollable morning hair into a messy ponytail. After which, I proceeded to pad barefoot out of the room in search of caffeine.
My morning continued to get better when I met my dad at the bottom of the stairs. He clipped his holster around the waist of his uniform, and gave me a quick scan.
“Don’t you think you should put some clothes on?”
I was wearing purple pajama shorts and a tank top. It wasn’t like I was walking around in my underwear. “I slept great Dad, thanks for asking.”
He sighed and fixed the cuff of his shirt. “Paisley’s looking forward to today. Don’t be an asshole.”
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “She’s the only one.”
“I mean it, Riley.”
I gave him a big fake
smile and said, “I’ll be on my best behavior,” while stretching my arms over my head.
By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. My shirt had already ridden up, and my dad’s eyes zeroed in on my belly button piercing.
“What the hell is that?!”
I quickly tugged the shirt back down. “Nothing.”
“Did Chase let you get that?”
Chase was the one who did it. He thought it might make me look at the jagged scar on my abdomen differently. Spoiler alert: It didn’t. The crooked line on the left side of my belly would always be a reminder of Mom’s need for alcohol. I almost died, and she still couldn’t stop.
“No,” I lied.
His brow rose. “You expect me to believe that?”
My dad could always tell when I was lying. I guess having a tendency to speak your mind, makes one a shitty liar. So, rather than risk busting myself – or Chase, for that matter – I glanced over his shoulder and focused on the purple plant by the door.
“I’m late.” He sighed and headed for the door. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”
“Can’t wait,” I muttered as I watched him leave. Then with a sigh, I floated towards the kitchen. He was probably calling Chase this very minute. I couldn’t worry about that right now, because someone was cooking bacon. Mmm, bacon.
The feel of a warm hand pressing on my shoulder made me realize I was walking around with my eyes closed. Instead of my obnoxiously happy stepmom, I was met with the kind smile of an older woman with greying, black hair.
“Good morning querido. Can I get you something?”
“Coffee,” I muttered, planting my butt on one of the island stools, and hating that it wasn’t my fluffy bed.
The kitchen, like everything else in this house, was magazine quality. Sunlight bounced off the stainless-steel appliances, and dark marble countertops, which matched the tiles. The walls were painted a light tan, and little Knick Knacks decorated the room. Paisley seemed to favor sunflowers. They were everywhere, accenting the walls and cupboards.
I looked at the painting hung next to the fridge. It was pretty, well done with the right blend of colors, and completely mundane. It was of a girl in a yellow dress, walking through a field of sunflowers. An image that had absolutely no meaning, and had been done a hundred times before. I’d take a finger painting by a two-year-old on a sugar high over that.
