Chapter 12
~Ax~
I’m smoking my third cigarette in the last half hour since I woke up to find Rox gone from her own bed. From her own house. I kicked myself for not getting her damn cell number right away. I called a bunch that Trig had in his files, but they’re all dead. Probably burners.
I hear her angry footsteps pounding up the porch steps. A second later, she rips open the front door and then kicks it shut, angry as fuck.
It takes her a second to notice me standing in her living room and dragging on a smoke.
“You’re still here,” is her bitchy greeting.
I figured. She’s tryin’ to blow me off, cuz we got too close last night.
She recovers quickly and in a second her obvious anger’s gone. Well, hidden from me. “Good. We need to talk,” she says striding into the room. She pulls a bunch of rolled up papers from her inner jacket pocket and spreads ‘em over the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.
“Where the fuck were you?” I thunder, storming over. I loom over her, glaring hard at her.
She looks up at me quickly and then turns her attention back to the papers on the table. “Busy.”
“Rox, fucking answer me!”
“Meeting with my guys,” she says, still not looking at me. “And sorting this shit out.” I growl and she finally makes eye contact. “For you.”
“What?”
She pats the couch. “Sit.”
What. The. Fuck?
“Please, Neil,” she adds, obviously getting that I’m pissed at her ordering me ‘round.
I’m still pissed, but I sit down next to her so I can check out the papers. The larger 24”x36” one is a map of the city. Some areas are circled in red and date-stamped. All the dates are within the last couple of days.
“These are Mavs sightings. Me and my guys pulled all our surveillance together. Based on all our intel, these circled locations are Mavs hangouts when they come into Brockford.”
She’s got my full attention now.
“I had Ralph set up surveillance early yesterday at all access points in and out of Brockford. The guys who attacked us haven’t been spotted leaving, meaning they’re still here. At one of these circled locations.”
She flips over two letter-sized papers. Surveillance photos. I suck in a breath. Fuck me.
“Broker,” she says, pointing to his photo. “You recognize the other guy? I couldn’t get an ID. I have my guys on it, reaching out to our street contacts,” she asks, studying me and obviously reading the look on my face.
Disgust. That’s the fucking look on my face.
“Yeah.” The Mavs’ Sergeant-at-Arms, Bulldozer. The guy you really don’t wanna see nowhere near you is the Sergeant-at-Arms, cuz you know that hell’s ‘bout to rain down on you. I should know. I used to be that guy for a long time.
“Neil?” Rox presses.
“Bulldozer. Their enforcer. Sergeant-at-Arms.”
She nods. “What’s your beef with Broker? What was all that shit about back at the motel?”
“Long story. Ain’t talking ‘bout it. All you gotta know is he used to be Thorns. Was VP before me.”
“I already know that. My dad brought him on board when he was President.”
“Dealer used to tell you shit ‘bout club politics? He bring Broker to your house and stuff?”
“No. I never saw him in person until the motel situation.” A sheepish expression comes over her face as she tells me, “I was a nosey kid. My dad was always secretive and I went through this whole Nancy Drew phase. I rifled through his home office a couple of times. Saw files about all his guys, including Broker.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. That was some risky shit.”
She shakes her head. “My dad was dangerous, but he never once laid a hand on me. He never would have. Besides, you know how bikers are when it comes to women. In their eyes, women can’t affect anything. They’re inconsequential, except for a fuck or two. Even me knowing everything wouldn’t have worried a man like my dad.”
I squeeze her hand to get her attention. “That what you think ‘bout me, Rox?”
She don’t answer, but that says it all.
“Last night weren’t just fucking to me. You feel me?”
Our eyes lock and I see her understanding me for a second or two. But then she looks away and turns back to the papers like it ain’t nothing to her. Fuck me, she’s a tough nut to crack. Don’t she get that I just did something I ain’t never done? Told her how I felt? And she just blew it off.
“Rox,” I growl. “You feel me, or what?”
“Yes,” she grits out.
“And?”
She shoots to her feet. “And?” she thunders, angrily. “And I need you to get your fucking biker persona on and help me to deal with these guys before they do any more damage! They’re here, in my city. That’s all that matters to me right now. Not last night. This and nothing else.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, surprised as hell that she’s so angry and emotional. Ain’t seen her like this before. She’s normally…calm.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Just business. And, by the way, that motel you were staying at that those guys shot up? That place is supposed to be under my damn protection. So, I need to fix this freak show. I need a statement to be made. You find these two and you’ll find Skinner. He’s not at his compound. I checked around, hit the streets earlier this morning.”
“What?” I snap, jumping to my feet. I cross to her and grip her arms, shaking her. “You went ‘round asking shit ‘bout the Mavs? You got any idea how fucking dangerous that was? You don’t go looking for guys like ‘em. Word spreads like wildfire. You coulda been killed! You were putting yourself right in the line of fire!”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“Like hell. Only I can protect you from guys like ‘em.”
She squirms in my arms. “I don’t need your protection.”
“Too late. You already got it.”
“Look, just because we fucked—”
“We didn’t just fuck.”
“What do you want then? Are we in love, Neil? You wanna make me your Old Lady? You wanna marry me? Want me to have your babies?”
Her words shock me and I let go of her and step back.
“Yeah, exactly. You don’t. So, take it down a notch with me. You don’t own me.” She scoffs. “Glad we cleared that up, cuz that’s my idea of jail, not a life. You got me?”
Jail? What’s her damage? What kinda woman thinks like that ‘bout marriage and kids? All the club whores I’ve been with got that as their main goal. They’re dying for one of us to make ‘em our Old Ladies, marry ‘em and bear their goddamn kids. And it ain’t just ‘em. All women want that. It’s just nature.
“Last night weren’t the end of it. You got me?”
Her eyes narrow. “No.”
“No?”
She snatches up the papers. “Yeah, no. We’re done.” She pushes ‘em into my hands. “This is what you came here for. Trig sent you to use me to get intel on Skinner’s location, so you can kill him, right? Well, here it is. That’s everything I have. Now, do us both a favor and go kill that psycho.”
“This ain’t over, Rox.”
“It is, Ax.”
Using my nickname to distance herself. Fuck. I know I ain’t gonna get through to her when she’s in a stubborn ass mood like this. So, I’ll back off. For now. But this ain’t over. No way.
I roll up the papers and make my way to the door.
But something stops me. I gotta know. I need to know. My hand on the door, I call over my shoulder, “When was your run in with Skinner?”
“Why?”
“Two years ago, was it?”
“Don’t, Ax.”
“Thought so. That’s why you kept your legs closed. ‘Til last night.”
“He didn’t rape me!” she bellows.
I turn back to her. The pain in her eyes rips right through me. “I
’m sorry, Rox.”
“He didn’t!” she screams. “He didn’t do that!”
He must’ve got fucking close then. He’s definitely touched her. I can tell by her crazed reaction. That piece of shit!
“All right,” I tell her, gently. I make my way back to her, unable to leave her standing there hurting. I gotta…fix it. Comfort her. Shit, I shoulda just kept my damn mouth shut. But I couldn’t. After her comment last night ‘bout it being two years since she’d had sex…I couldn’t get the possible connection between that and her run-in with Skinner outta my head.
“No! Go. Just go!”
“Rox—”
“I’m serious! Leave! Now!”
Fuck. I hesitate and she suddenly pulls her glock. Her eyes flash at me.
She’s so worked up she don’t even realize she ain’t flipped the safety off. She can’t actually hurt me with it like that. But I turn ‘round anyway and head for the door. She ain’t gonna calm down with me here. She needs space. Fine, I’ll give her space. But not much.
I’ll be back.
How can I stay away now? She’s the only woman I’ve ever felt something with. I dunno what the hell it means, but all I do know is I ain’t gonna turn my back on it. This shit don’t happen to me. I don’t feel things. But this woman’s got something. She does things to me.
And I want more.
Chapter 13
~Ax~
I rip into the parking lot and come to a rough stop. I eye the piece of shit pub that fits in well with this goddamn down-and-out area of the city. Dilapidated, abandoned buildings. Purposeless thugs walking the streets and dealing out in the open in the fucking daylight. Worn out hookers who couldn’t pay nobody to fuck ‘em.
Just more heat to add to the fire of rage burning through my veins.
First, I wake up this morning to find Rox gone. Then she comes back and basically spits in my face and blows me off the way I blow off a club whore. What the fuck? After what went down with us last night, I thought we were past all her standoffish bullshit and all her games of acting like she don’t want this thing with us. She knows damn well it was more than fucking. I saw it in her face. Hell, I felt it. Her blowing me off like that is a damn slap in the face and a fucking cop out on her end.
And then there’s the shit with Skinner, knowing he’s touched her. And I know that scar on her arm is his doing. I recognize his fucking work. He don’t got that nickname of his for no goddamn reason. He took a knife to her. Skinned her. Ain’t never felt so sick to my stomach and filled with rage at the same fucking time before. Knowing he’s touched my girl. Hurt her. My girl. Shit.
Fuck, I’m more angry ‘bout that than getting shot at by Broker yesterday. Weren’t a hit. If it were, I’d be six feet deep. Four guys with automatics? Yeah, if they’d wanted me dead, I would be. But Broker had called me out. I was ready to answer ‘til the cops showed up. Knowing he’s got my mom’s necklace too is killing me.
I ain’t reported none of this to Trig yet. Why? Cuz, according to Rox’s intel, Broker’s still here. And I wanna be the one to deal with him. I tell Trig and I know he’ll reel me in, cuz of my history with him. He won’t wanna risk me losing my shit. Well, too fucking bad. What he dunno won’t hurt him.
This old pub might be where they’re at. Rox’s intel has this ID’d as one of their hangouts when they pass through the city.
I’m barely off my bike when I hear footsteps. I turn to see three guys approaching me from the back of the pub.
I do a quick sweep.
Two blades. One pool cue. No guns.
Makes things easier. And way more fun. Hand to hand. Just what I need right now to unleash my anger.
“We got a problem here?” I ask, walking up to ‘em. Don’t want this shit going down nowhere near my bike.
“Your kind ain’t welcome ‘round here. Only Devil’s Mavericks allowed,” a guy with an Elvis haircut and dirtied sweatpants and a hoodie tells me as he tightens his grip on his blade. Some tiny Swiss Army thing.
“Yeah, thing is, I ain’t asking permission.”
Elvis don’t flinch. The other blade wielder does, fiddling nervously with his way-too-tight tank top. But Tank Top ain’t my focus. It’s the guy with the pool cue, bigger than the rest, his black hoodie stretching over his beer gut. I recognize the look in his eyes. Fierce. Determined. Guy’s got conviction and that makes him dangerous. He’s prepared to take this all the way, so he’s the one I gotta worry ‘bout outta the three of ‘em. Tank Top is a flake and Elvis is a poser.
Yeah, I got a talent for reading people real fucking well.
I square my shoulders and glare at the three of ‘em. “There’s two ways this shit can go. One: you tell me right now where Broker’s at. Two: I beat it outta all three of you.”
Elvis steps forward. “We’re not telling you anything, dickhead.”
Exactly what I wanted to hear. I’m itching for a damn fight and these idiots are offering it up to me on a fucking silver platter.
Elvis drops his shoulder like the amateur he is, letting me know exactly what he’s gonna do. My left hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist that’s holding the blade. I squeeze hard, cracking the damn thing and he shrieks like a pussy. I smash my right fist into his jugular. He stumbles back choking.
The air moves ‘round me. Pool Cue swings his stick. I grab hold of it mid-strike and rip it from his grasp. I swipe it at his head, knocking him back.
Ready to finish the guy with a hefty kick, I’m hindered by Tank Top jumping on my back and tryin’ to drive me to the floor. I reach ‘round and fist my hand in his hoodie, ready to throw the fucker off me. That’s when a searing pain rips through my upper back. His goddamn blade. What kinda pussy is this guy? Literally stabbing a man in the back?
The disrespect in it enrages me and I push down the pain and rip him off my back with one hand. He lands hard on the tarmac, coughing as it winds him. I reach ‘round and rip the blade from my flesh, cursing as I do, not cuz of the pain, but cuz the fucker ripped through my cut with it. That’s it! Decision made. He’s the one I’m gonna torture.
I thrust my boot into his ribs. Once. Twice. He starts whimpering like a bitch.
Meanwhile, Pool Cue makes the mistake of coming at me again. I catch his weak-ass punch in my hand and thrust my knee into his gut. He staggers back and I deliver a punishing right hook that knocks him the hell out right beside a crying Elvis.
I grab Tank Top by his shoulders and haul him to his feet, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the pub.
I hold his own blade in front of his face and grab hold of one of his hands. Drawing the edge of it along one of his fingers, I growl, “Which one you wanna lose first?”
His eyes bug outta his head and he asks fearfully, “What do you wanna know?”
That’s more like it.
“Broker. I’m looking for him. Tell me everything you know.”
He nods frantically. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah, man.”
Still coming down from my rage and pissed ‘bout him messing up my cut, I plunge the knife into his gut. Thing ain’t long enough to drive deep. Won’t kill him. But it gets me what I want. His screams of agony. That terror flashing in his eyes. Damn straight, motherfucker.
“Get talking!”
***
I stride outta the pub, wiping my bloodied hands on the dishrag I swiped from behind the bar. After having a good long talk with Tank Top, I dragged all three of ‘em inside. Leaving ‘em on the street out in the open would draw attention too quickly. Guys like ‘em won’t call the cops. They’ve got enough shit going on to end up screwing themselves over by doing that. But the same can’t be said for random passersby. Luckily, the only witnesses ‘round during my beat down of ‘em were some kid dealing across the street and a hooker high off her ass.
As I make my way over to my bike, my cell buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out without bothering to check the call display, I bark, “What?”
“Ax,” Trig�
��s voice answers. Shit. I can hear he’s pissed at my tone right away.
“Sorry. Thought you were somebody else, Prez.”
“Where you at?”
“Working the streets for leads on Skinner,” I lie. Well, it’s only half a lie. Once I find Broker and his dog, I’ll get Skinner’s location outta ‘em. Like I said; I ain’t gonna tell him it’s Broker I’m after right now. Or that Tank Top just gave me some good leads.
“Right, well, we got an urgent situation. Need you on it ASAP.”
“Listening.”
“Got intel on a Mavs ambush gonna go down in a couple of hours.”
“Fuck, who they going after?”
“It’s the other way ‘round.”
“What?” I ask, shocked. “Another club?” Who else would risk going after those demented fucks, but another club with the force and know-how at their backs? If it’s another club, then we got ourselves some potential allies right there. Enemies of our enemies and all.
“Civilian,” Trig answers.
“You’re fucking with me, right? Who’d be crazed enough to—” It hits me right in the gut as I say the words. “Shit. Rox?”
“You got it, brother. Crazy bitch is gunnin’ for a weapons shipment of theirs. Making a declaration of war by doing it too.”
Shit. She’s gonna get herself killed. “Where?” I choke out, as adrenaline spikes through me at the thought of her in danger.
“Runner worked out where they’re gonna need to stop to refuel. Truck stop ‘bout ten miles outside Brockford. Reckon that’s where she and her guys are gonna cut ‘em off.”
“All right. Text me the exact location.”
“Yeah. Stop the crazy bitch before everything goes to hell. Smiter’s already on his way to back you up with some extra persuasion.”
Extra persuasion. Meaning he’s coming with his heavy-handed approach to beat Rox’s guys into submission if he’s gotta.
“All right.”
“The Mavs ID you as Thorns and we’re at war with them.”
“You’re telling me to lose my cut for this?”
“Yeah, I am. Already gave Smiter the order too.”
DIRTY ALPHAS Page 29
