Slow Ride: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 18)

by Ruby Dixon

  “I see.” My voice is calm and steady. “I’m going to give you one last chance to get that money.”

  He grins. “Or what?”

  I calmly pull out my Glock and shoot him in the arm, just like Solo showed me. I’m close enough that I don’t even have to aim too hard. Just boom, and he jerks backward in his chair, a cry escaping him. His buddy leaps out of his chair, but I slide forward and press my gun to the wounded guy’s crotch, right where his nuts are. “Don’t.”

  He stiffens, his mouth going wide.

  The other guy freezes.

  “Hi,” I say sweetly. “It’s clear you need a lesson on who I am. Look at my colors.” I jam the gun harder against his nuts. “And if your buddy goes for a weapon, you’re going to be singing soprano. Understand me?”

  “S-sit down, Snake.” He clutches his arm and stares at me.

  ‘Snake’ sits with a thump. Now both of them are staring at me.

  Good. I tap the gun on his nuts. “Now tell me what my colors say. The patches.”

  His glazed expression goes to my cut. “L-lucky.”

  “And underneath that?”

  “Treasurer. Fuck, my arm.” There’s blood welling from under his tightly pressed fingers.

  “You’ll fucking live,” I say, my tone full of sugar. I tap the gun on his balls again. “Maybe not if these go. But an arm wound is a pussy wound. And I’m sure it’s gonna be unpleasant if you tell the guys that a girl shot you, isn’t it?”

  No one responds.

  “I see I’ve got your attention. Does it say Barbie anywhere?” I tilt my head, waiting.

  “N-no.”

  “Check again.”

  He swallows hard, pain on his face. “No.”

  “Then you won’t call me Barbie again, will you? Either of you?”

  They shake their heads.

  I smile. “Good. Now you know my name is Lucky. And if you’re familiar with the Butchers at all, you’d know Gemini’s one of the presidents. And I’m his sister. I’m also partners with Solo, who is treasurer. We’re really not pleased with how the Street Kings have been handling their end of the deal. And I’m in a real shitty mood today and hormonal.” I give him a tight smile. “Girl stuff. And when I get hormonal, I get cranky. And you know what happens when I get cranky?”

  “You shoot my dick off?” He looks horrified.

  “Bingo. But you two know what will make me happy, don’t you? I want that money on my desk at the Meat Locker at three o’ clock this afternoon. Sharp. Not just this week’s. Not just last week’s. I want a little something extra that says that you’re sorry.” I think for a minute. “And flowers, because I’m a hormonal girl, and you want to make me happy.” I give his nuts one last nudge with the gun. “Now, do we understand each other?”

  Two silent nods.

  “Good.” I stand up and holster my gun. “Don’t make me come back here, boys.” With that, I straighten my cut, give a toss of my hair, and saunter back out to my car. I’m half expecting to get a bullet in the back, but confidence sells badassery more than anything else, so I don’t stop to check.

  When I get in the car, I toss the gun into my purse, back out, and then speed away. I start laughing hysterically, adrenaline pumping through my body.

  I feel amazing.

  I just shot a guy and barely blinked. I put two assholes in their place and took control of a situation. And if they deliver the money this afternoon, I’ll have conquered a big, big problem.

  I take a deep breath. Maybe the Butchers keep trying to protect me from club business because I let them. I need to own my colors, I realize. I’m a Butcher because they expect me to handle things on behalf of the club, and I’ve been letting my expectations of how a girl should act run the show. But if I was a normal girl, I wouldn’t be patched.

  And I wouldn’t have Eric.

  Poor, confused Eric who just wants to make me happy and tried to bring me another penis. The entire situation strikes me as ludicrous, and I burst into giggles. Maybe I’ll talk with Eric tonight and let him know what’s going on…and that I don’t plan on giving up my colors.

  The Butchers will just have to deal with a pregnant bitch on a bike.

  I steer the car back to the accessory store, where I’d left Becka not a half hour ago. She doesn’t come out, which means she’s either still shopping, or so pissed at me that she’s going to make me come in after her. Okay, fine. I slide my gun back into my purse, grab my handbag, and head into the store.

  No Becka. It’s a small junk jewelry shop, so it’s not like I could miss her. The place is literally one square room and a few counters. I head to the cashier, who’s texting something on her phone. “I’m looking for my sister. I left her here about a half hour ago? Early twenties, kinda short, brown hair?”

  The girl at the register shrugs. “Saw a girl ride off with a dude on a motorcycle a while ago. That her?”

  She must have called someone for a ride. Relieved, I nod. “Yeah, that was probably her. Thanks.” I leave the store and head back to the car. Becka’s going to give me an earful for abandoning her. Not that I don’t deserve it. It was a shitty thing of me to do.

  I’ll just blame hormones.

  I’m almost back to the gym when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s Becka, and I check the message at a red stoplight.

  Becka: Don’t you wanna know where I am?

  I frown to myself and pull into a fast food place to text her back. I’m close to the Meat Locker, but if she needs a ride, I’ll just have to turn right back around again. So I text her back. I do. Do you need a lift? Sorry about earlier.

  Becka: You should be sorry.

  A picture is attached. It’s Becka, with duct-tape over her mouth, her eyes wide and frightened. A knife point is held next to her face, and there’s a big, tattooed arm around her neck, holding her in place.

  I’d have to be blind not to see the Hard Nine inked across the guy’s big bicep.

  My stomach knots up in fear. Oh God. Solo warned me. He’d warned me that the Hard Nine were out and about and to be careful. And what had I done? I lost my temper and abandoned my baby sister and now they had her.

  I text back. How did you get her?

  Becka: Your sister should learn not to take a ride with strangers. Someone shoulda checked the patches before climbing onto the bike, eh?

  Oh God. She’d probably thought the Butchers had showed up - or I’d sent them - and just happily accepted a ride. We’ve sheltered Becka from a lot of the club lifestyle by sending her away to school and then to college. Maybe we’ve sheltered her too much. I text again. Don’t you dare hurt her, you son of a bitch. Who is this?

  Becka: You don’t get to ask questions. You get to answer our demands, or you get this little beauty back in pieces.

  Fine. What do you want in exchange for my sister’s safety?

  A bike pulls up next to me in the parking lot.

  Becka: Go with my friend and the girl won’t get hurt. Choose to leave and she’s going to really regret your actions.

  Bastards. I glance over at the bike and the man on it is bald, mean looking, and wearing sunglasses and a Hard Nine jacket. He’s staring straight ahead, waiting. They’re not going to give me a choice or a chance to go get reinforcements. I text Solo.

  Hard Nine has me.

  I don’t know how long it’s going to be until he reads it, but I hope it’s soon. I hope he’s checking his phone frequently waiting to hear from me. I hope.

  God, I hope.

  Then I send one more text.

  I’m coming. Don’t hurt her.

  And I get out of the car, my purse in hand. I have my gun still. That’s something.

  The guy on the bike glances at me as I stand next to him. He holds out his hand a moment later, and for a heart-stopping moment, I worry he’s going to ask for my gun. That he knows I’m armed.

  “Cell phone,” he says, palm out.

  Oh. I’m strangely relieved. I hand it to him and he
tosses it inside my car’s open window.

  “Get on,” he says.

  And I do, because what choice do I have?

  Chapter Six

  Lucky

  The biker drives to an abandoned, run-down strip mall on the edges of Albuquerque. The parking lot is pitted and full of weeds, and every storefront is boarded up and the one with glass in the window has an old, faded FOR LEASE sign that is probably a permanent fixture. I’m pissed that they’ve been hiding nearby, right under our noses, and make a mental note that if I get out of this alive, the Butchers are going to have to canvas empty buildings looking for these assholes.

  When. When I get out of this alive.

  While my buddy’s been driving, I’ve slowly inched my gun back into the holster under my vest. It wasn’t easy and required a lot of leaning away while he was driving, and a few times I thought I’d be flung off due to his recklessness. But it’s in place and in easy reach, and I feel better with it there. I’m also a little sorry I was such a horndog in all the lessons Solo was trying to give me. I should have paid more attention to the target than his dick.

  I don’t regret it, though. I cherish every moment with Solo. Even if this goes to shit, I had everything I wanted for a short time. No complaints here. Suddenly all my petty worries about the baby and my anger at Solo for his misinterpretation of my words seems utterly silly. None of that matters. We can work through anything, as long as we’re together and we’re safe.

  And then I think of Becka, who’s coming into the club war-zone blind. Please, please let Becka be safe. It’s all my fault she was captured.

  The big guy drives around to the back of the building, to the receiving bays. He hits a remote on his keychain and a door goes up. He parks his bike and indicates that I should get off. I do. I think briefly about running, but Becka’s somewhere in there and if I run, I’ll either get a bullet in the back or they’ll think I’ve gone for reinforcements. Either way, she’s as good as dead. He gets off his bike and a hand goes to the back of my neck. “This way.”

  I let him steer me toward the side of the building, even though common sense tells me this is a very bad idea. It’s quiet and remote and the perfect place to dump a body. Fact is, if he wanted to execute me, he could have done so a bunch of times already. I have to think that they want me alive for some reason.

  I hope that they wanted Becka alive for some reason, too.

  He takes me into the employee entrance. I hold my breath as he does.

  • • •

  I’m not sure what I was expecting when I went in. A dozen armed thugs with guns surrounding my sister? I don’t know. Inside, however, there are three men in cuts sitting on folding chairs amongst a bunch of crates, and they’re all unfamiliar to me. The one pushing me inside with his hand on my neck makes four. Not terrible odds. Maybe I can even them if I think fast.

  I shot a man earlier. I can do it again.

  There’s no Becka, though, and that worries me. She should be here.

  “Well, well,” one says and stands up. “I didn’t think she’d be dumb enough to show up.” He grins, which only emphasizes his bad teeth and even worse skin. I notice an ugly white scar going from his ear to under his jaw. It doesn’t look surgical. He looks mean as hell, too.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “None of your business, sweet thing.” He strolls toward me, sizing me up, and his gaze moves to my breasts. “Thought a female Butcher would look more...butch. But you’re a pretty little girl, aren’t you?”

  Oh, he is just asking for a gun to the nuts. I sneer at him. It’s weird. I’ve been terrified the entire ride over, but now that I’m here? I’m not scared. I’m worried about Becka, but these guys? These are the same kind of thugs I met with the Street Kings. And I’m not scared.

  “Where’s my sister? You said she’d be here.”

  He trails a finger down my bare arm, and I flick it away as if he were a gnat. “Did I say that, baby girl? Because I’m pretty sure all I said was that we have her. Not that we’re keeping her.”

  Cold floods my insides. So this was all a ploy. “I want her back.”

  “I want those guns you Butchers intercepted a few weeks back, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?” His expression grows cold and ugly. “So if your men want to see you again, they’ll give us those guns. Every single one of them. Today.”

  “This is about guns? Why get my sister involved? She doesn’t know anything about them.”

  The big one that led me in moves away, to stand with the other three near the folding chairs. The scarred one circles me, then stands behind me and puts an arm around my shoulders.

  I try to jerk away, but one of the others me fingers his gun, indicating that I should stay still. All right, I need to wait for a distraction before I show my firearm, or I’m going to get shot full of holes.

  So I remain still, even though I hate the man’s touch. The scarred guy leans in, hissing his words. “See, those guns that you guys stole? They weren’t for us. We were just shipping them to a few friends in the Eighty-Eight. And they’re not too happy that our shipment’s gone missing.”

  Ah. I get it now. The reason why they’re so fired up about those guns is that they have another, bigger, gang on their asses, demanding them. And firearms like those aren’t easy to come by. Hell, we have them locked up in several different locations because they’re not exactly stuff you can carry on the street. “That’s not my problem.”

  “Isn’t it?” He leans in closer. “See, they’re really not happy. So we need to make them happy again. First step, a little bit of something to appease them.”

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Becka?”

  “Yup. Guess she don’t know your boys all that well.” He fingers the cut he’s wearing, and for the first time, I notice it’s a Butchers jacket. Fuck. It’s Handlebar’s. Where is he? No wonder Becka went with this guy. She thought he was safe because he was a Butcher.

  She wouldn’t have known otherwise. My poor little sister. Poor Handlebar, because he wouldn’t let anyone take his cut. They’d have to rip it from his dying hands.

  “What did you do with Handlebar?” I whisper. “That’s his cut.”

  “This old thing?” He fingers the vest. “Nice little present from the Eighty-Eight in exchange for your sister. Ain’t that sweet?”

  “The Eighty-Eight are scum,” I say vehemently, and pull away from him when he tries to lick my ear. It’s time for me to shut this down, because it’s clear that Becka’s not here, and I’m not going to get her back. I’m done with these jackasses. So I give the scarred one a dismissive look. “I shouldn’t be surprised that the Hard Nine are with them. Scum deals with scum. But I’m willing to forgive this if you tell me where they took my sister. Let me go, give me my sister’s information, and the Butchers won’t retaliate.” I look him in the eye.

  The scarred one stares at me. Then he laughs, like I’ve said something hysterical. “You’re trying to bargain with me, little girl?”

  “I’m tired of you calling me that,” I say, my voice calm. “Do it again and I won’t be pleased.”

  His newest laugh is a high pitched giggle. “What are you going to do, little girl?”

  I pause, as if considering my options. Instead, I’m gauging guns. If I pull mine and shoot the guy next to me to show I mean business, the other three will pull if they have them. Only one is fingering his belt like something is there. I’m going to assume the other two are unarmed, then. It’s a risk, but what about this isn’t?

  The Butchers aren’t going to give them the guns. They don’t have Becka. If the Butchers come after me, they’re going to find me in pieces.

  So I need to make a move. I think about Solo’s instructions to wing them in the arm. It worked beautifully earlier today. I can do it again. But then I’ll have to be even faster, because one or more are going to attack--

  I hear the sound of several motorcycles pulling up outside. Their eyes na
rrow, and one gets up, heading for the window. “We expecting company?”

  “Not yet,” snarls the scarred one.

  I back up a step.

  “Wait there, little girl.”

  He reaches for something in his pants--

  And there’s no time to act. No time to think. It’s now or never. I pull out my gun and shoot. The sound is loud, and I hear shouts outside even as I turn and shoot the other guy that’s raising a weapon. Bang, bang. So fucking fast it barely seems real.

  Then, the other two guys freeze as I turn my gun on them. One puts his hands in the air. “Don’t kill me!”

  But I’m not aiming to kill. I start to say that, when I look over at the first guy at my feet. He’s got blood all over his chest and his eyes are open, staring. The other across the room is face down, and there’s blood everywhere.

  Oh shit. I didn’t wing them. I didn’t even come close.

  Boots thunder into the building, the next room over. “Lucky?” Solo shouts, and I want to cry like a baby with relief.

  “In here,” I call out, my gun still trained on the other two men. One looks twitchy, and I wonder if he’s going to reach for something...or try to take my gun from me. So I force a cocky little smile to my mouth. “So, one of you douchebags want to call me ‘little girl’ again?”

  They’re silent.

  Men in Butchers colors flood in through the door on the side, carrying shotguns. There’s Lock, and Epic, Gem and Solo and Domino and Muscle. And they all look so good I start to tear up. I’ve just fucked everything.

  “Penny?” Solo says softly. “Babe?”

  “Come get these assholes,” I choke out, afraid to lower my gun.

  “You’re good, love. I got you.” He comes to my side and his hand gently touches mine, lowering my gun. I must look pretty wild eyed, because he’s treating me like I’m going to break or snap, or both. “You okay?”

  I want to say yes, but my eyes brim with tears and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t know that I am okay. I just killed two men. It doesn’t matter that they’re the bad guys or the enemy or fucking whatever. I killed them. Shot them dead like they were nothing, just targets in a shooting range.