by Wilde, Kati
“Well, it’s pretty fucking simple,” Handlebar says, sitting back. “He killed my ride partner. And I know the reason he did it. Saving his sister. I understand that real damn well. But it doesn’t fucking matter. So at some point, we settle up. And one of us won’t get up again.”
Maxine’s eyes are real bright and glittering with tears. “But—”
“No, angel,” I tell her gently. “He’s right. And this is between me and him.”
“And between you and Crash,” Handlebar adds with a rough catch in his voice. “Which makes it not so fucking simple anymore. If you’d showed up a year ago, I’d have already put that bullet in your head. But now I’ve had a long damn time to think on it.”
“Think on what?” Because it still seems pretty fucking simple to me.
“That he had a purpose, and it wasn’t saving your sister. No, he was saving a brother. So that you could do this”—he gestures between me and Maxine—“get married to an angel, start popping out kids, have a full fucking life. So if I took that life now and made his sacrifice worth nothing, I’d be betraying him worse than you did. So instead you’re going to fucking live that life, yeah? You making those fucking kids yet?”
My throat’s real damn tight. “Not yet.”
Because she’s mostly recovered, but pregnancy is a hell of a strain on a body. So we’re still putting that off a bit—and her birth control is real this time.
“When you do, maybe you name the first one after him. And you and me, we’ll consider this shit settled.” He leans forward, eyes burning into mine. “We ain’t ever going to be brothers again. But there’s a life he should have had, and maybe that goddamn tumor would have taken it from him, maybe it wouldn’t have. All I know is, he put that future in your hands. What could have been his life is now yours, so you take care of what he gave you.”
A life with Maxine. “I’ll take real fucking good care of it.”
“Good.” He sits back, then looks to her. “So that’s done.”
“No,” she whispers, eyes brimming. “Because Crash would have wanted the same future for you, too. And for you to take care of it—and yourself.”
“I know it. I’m just getting there the long way around.” His voice is real thick. “So let’s talk about something we’ll all be looking forward to, and tell me: Who the fuck is Papa, and how are we taking him out?”
* * *
His name’s Elliot Pearce. Which doesn’t mean shit to Maxine, Handlebar, or me—or probably anyone outside of casino construction. His grandfather broke ground on some of the old, big name casinos, his father carried on the tradition, and Papa came up into the world with a whole lot of contacts in Las Vegas and a whole lot of money. The kind of Vegas royalty that isn’t the glitz and glamour but sheer power in the labor unions…and in the dirty underbelly, too.
We figure that’s where he got the bright idea to start up his own high-stakes game in the Cage, along with all the contacts he needed in Caballo, the Greek, and every other cartel- and mafia-connected piece of garbage that I spent the last year taking down.
The best fucking part is that Elliot Pearce looks real good on paper. So at first glance, it seems like we’ll be heading into a war with his security on one side and us on the other. But when we get eyes on him at his big oasis villa about fifteen miles west of the Strip, turns out the fucker hasn’t been having a good year. Apparently he got real damn lazy on some projects and his company’s barely afloat, getting outbid left and right. His security’s down to a team of four, and word is that Papa hasn’t been paying his bills. I’m guessing because all the money that was supposed to come in from the Cage didn’t come in.
Ain’t real sorry about that.
Still, this won’t be a simple thing. His villa’s up on a high ridge looking out over the city and it’s a goddamn fortress. So we pay real close attention to his comings and goings. Likely that’ll be how we have to get him. But even that won’t be quick and easy. Maybe that asshole has a whole bevy of people looking to kill him, because he only travels in armored sedans with bulletproof glass. Which means an ambush or a sniper rifle won’t do much good.
It’s frustrating as hell, but there’s only one way to do this: real patient and real smart. Because all this time, Papa’s been patient and smart, too. And although I want Papa—and I really want his fucking guards, because they put bullets in my girl—better to spill their blood than ours by rushing in too quick.
That patience pays off a few days later. My phone lights up with a message from Zoomie, who’s currently got eyes on him.
He and his security just left his house.
At four o’clock in the morning. Which could be any number of reasons.
Then she follows up with, Just got onto the freeway. Looks like he’s headed north out of town.
Maxine’s sleeping beside me after a long night of watching the villa. We only got back to our room about two hours ago. But she can sleep on the way.
I kiss her awake, but even as she smiles and gives a sexy little moan, reaching for me like she usually does when I wake her up this way, I have to tell her, “Get dressed, angel. I’m tagging the others and we’re heading out.”
She blinks and sits up. “Did Papa realize we’re onto him?”
“Nah. This ain’t like when they took out the doc and we had to run.” I kiss the worry from her brow and haul my ass out of bed. “He’s heading out of town.”
Frowning, she glances at the clock. “Why?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” And if this gives us an opportunity, we’re going to take it.
We knew we might be in for the long haul, so the entire club isn’t here—though they’re on standby and ready to ride this way if we come up with a plan that needs a hell of a lot more manpower. But right now it’s just ten of us spread out over four vehicles. No bikes, no vests. Nothing that’ll point fingers at us later.
From the interstate, Papa’s car turns onto the Great Basin Highway, which passes through a long stretch of nowhere. Zoomie and Blowback back off a bit so the fuckers won’t spot their tail. Anyone else but Blowback driving, that might have worried me we’d lose them. But that brother’s like a dog on a bone and Papa won’t be slipping away from him.
The way the rest of us are hauling ass, when Zoomie tags us to say they turned off onto a smaller road, we’re only about ten minutes behind. All around us, there’s just desert scrub—a different part of the state but reminding me a whole lot of where the barns were. Just the middle of fucking nowhere. But that makes it a little easier to figure out where we might be headed. In the vehicle Saxon’s driving, Gunner’s looking through online maps for anything that might draw Papa out here.
He sends me a screenshot. Look at this shit, then zoom in. That the van you were talking about?
The communications van they used to broadcast the fight from the Cage. The van itself isn’t real clear, but the shadow cast by the satellite dish is.
God bless fucking Google Earth. Those photos might have been taken any time in the past few years, and that van might not be there now…but it was. And that’s a real clear connection to Papa.
I show it to Maxine, who sucks in a breath. Then in the backseat, Handlebar takes a look. His face goes real grim. “And is that another farmhouse and a fucking barn?”
“Looks like.”
“I thought you said the Cage was done.”
“It is,” I tell him. “But he’s out of money and probably real desperate. So it might be he’s starting it up again.” And it wouldn’t be the first time greed made even a smart and patient man careless. “The feds never found that van. If he’s got it, he can still broadcast. There’s nothing stopping him if he can put a few new stables together.”
“There’s something stopping him,” Maxine says with that rage flaring in her eyes.
Yeah, there is. “Get everyone on that map. We need a way in that doesn’t have us rolling up the driveway with our dicks flapping in the wind.”
<
br /> That way in is a reservoir road that cuts around behind the property on a ridge running east. We’ll be hoofing it for about a half mile, but the lay of the land and the barn itself will keep us out of sight of the farmhouse and give us some cover. We just have to make sure Papa is out of that armored car before we start lighting shit up.
Ideally, we’d take longer to scope out the territory and the property. Can’t be patient now. Fuck knows how long he’ll be here—or when a chance like this will come again.
We pull off the reservoir road and meet Zoomie, who points up toward the ridge where Blowback’s seeing what he can see. As I’m gearing up, I tell Maxine, “You’ll be staying here with Hashtag and Bull.”
She nods. Her face is pale and expression taut, just like I remember how it was when we were watching her brother fight in the Cage.
I hate that she’s afraid. But there’s nothing that can fix it except getting this done, so there won’t be anything left for her to fear. “You’re gonna hear some gunfire, maybe an explosion or two. But I fucking swear to you, I’m coming back. We’re all coming back.”
“I know,” she whispers, and I kiss the hell out of her before heading out.
It’s a sunny, cold morning. The air’s clean and clear and just the right temperature to take out the trash.
We move in quick and low, Blowback taking the lead since he already scoped out the path that’ll give us the most cover. Handlebar, Gunner, and me are right on his ass—just like old times, except that Crash isn’t with us. Otherwise this shit’s like slipping on a real comfortable boot. Right behind us comes Saxon and Zoomie and Duke. If we need it, they’ll lay down suppressive fire while the four of us cross the stretch of open yard between the barn and the house…and then make sure that if Papa runs for it, he doesn’t reach his car. But I don’t want him to run for it. I want him to hole up and trust his security to protect him.
We split up approaching the house, Gunner and Handlebar heading for the back entrance, me and Blowback taking the front. We pause at the side of the porch, because we haven’t had eyes on the front of the building—and his security would be real fucking stupid not to have at least one man out there. But that’s why Gunner and Handlebar and a hand grenade are going to provide a real nice distraction out back.
The explosion means it’s go time. The bang of the grenade is still ringing in my ears when I slide around the side of the house, where a big fucker in a suit did what any human would and looked in the direction of the boom. It ain’t the suit who escaped that night, but they all fucking drop the same when I pull the trigger. The airy cough of my silencer is buried under the noise Handlebar and Gunner are still making, shooting out the windows at the back of the house. One of two things will happen now: the security guards will rush Papa out the front door, or they’ll hunker down in the most secure room.
They hunker down. And this is turning into a hell of a good day.
Three guards left. They’ll make sure Papa’s secure, then leave one guard with him while the other two go see what the fuck is going on and to clear us out.
No shouting from inside to give away their position. These suits know their shit. I crouch near the dead guard and take a look at his radio earpiece. No good to us. My bullet clipped the receiver and the whole thing fucking shattered. The others are likely asking him for a sitrep. When he doesn’t answer, they’ll know we’re out front, too.
I look to Blowback, then glance to the narrow windows peeking through the foundation. There’s a basement. He nods, motions me ahead.
I go in low through the front door, sweeping the living room, then cover his six as he moves swiftly into the dining room. Gunner and Handlebar come in from the kitchen, both silent as fuck. I gesture to what I’m assuming is the basement door set into the kitchen wall. Gunner nods, then points upward.
Shit. Stairs are the worst goddamn thing, and the suits have the advantage for both. No doubt two of them are on the second floor, one guard ready to blow the head off anyone who comes up the steps while the other checks the windows, from where he can sweep the yard and fire at anyone outside. And the basement, hell. Even the stupidest guard can shoot someone who comes down the stairs.
Good thing Gunner came with goodies.
He passes a few flash grenades to Handlebar, gives us all a pair of combat earplugs, then looks to Blowback. Time to switch dance partners, because the basement will be just some blunt force shit, while taking out the fuckers upstairs requires a little more stealth.
Handlebar and I are the blunt force. He smirks a bit as he looks to the basement door…which can’t even be locked from the inside. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He gets the fun part. I get the shitty part, going blind into a hole. But I’m more accurate with a handgun than he is, so that’s the way it’s gotta be.
We both put in our earplugs using the unblocked end that’ll muffle loud explosions while still letting voices through. We wait just long enough for Gunner and Blowback to get where they’re going, because the flashbang down here will probably be like poking a hornet’s nest upstairs.
Standing to the side of the door, Handlebar reaches for the knob, swings it open. No shots. So either nobody’s down there, or Papa’s guard isn’t some impulsive dipshit.
Then Handlebar yells, “FBI! Come out with your hands up!” and I about lose my shit trying not to laugh, but hoping they’re dumb enough to fall for it.
They aren’t. He shrugs, because it was worth a try, and tosses down the flashbang. I cover my eyes with my hand. Now the shout comes, a guard yelling to get down—then the percussion slams through my chest and pops in my ears.
I charge through the door, down three steps with my gaze scanning through the swirling smoke below. Unfinished basement. Support columns. A furnace. Lots of shit to hide behind but the suit’s only partially behind cover, still wobbling a bit as he aims my direction. And that’s the fucker. The fucker who hunted down my girl. I put two bullets in his chest but he must be wearing body armor, because he gets knocked back but doesn’t go down.
Bullet in his face gets the job done.
“Guard’s down!” I call up to Handlebar. Smoothly I take the rest of the stairs, making a sweep—and find Papa cowering behind the furnace.
Fuck me, and Maxine was right. He does have rich people hair.
“Let’s go, asshole,” I tell him, then realize his ears are probably still ringing and he’s probably half deaf. Shit. I grab his collar, haul him out. And maybe because he’s not dead yet, the cowering stops. Now will come the negotiation when he’ll offer us money, maybe threaten us.
Before he can start playing the rich asshole, I give his cheek a friendly little pat. “I ain’t gonna kill you!” I yell at him.
Relief fills his expression. Then his eyes narrow on my face, and I’m guessing he recognizes the scars from that demonstration Crash and I gave.
More important that he recognizes me from somewhere else. Grinning, I shout, “All them money troubles you’ve been having?” I point my thumbs at my chest. “You can thank me! I took down all your fucking buddies and dismantled your Cage!”
His expression hardens and he begins shaking his head. I catch his face again, make sure he registers every word that comes next.
“And it was Cherry who figured out how to find you! You remember her? Tased your prize bull’s balls?”
I can see he remembers her—and is real fucking irritated knowing that a little redheaded virgin took him down.
Though I’d love to smash his goddamn teeth in, I give his cheek another friendly pat. “But like I said, I ain’t going to kill you! Nah. I’m going to walk up those stairs, and lock that door for…oh, maybe fifteen minutes. Because this basement seems a hell of a lot like the Cage. And if you refuse to fight—well, shit. Your choice is to fight or else get a bullet in the head. So which will it be?”
Jaw clenched, rage reddening his face, he tells me, “I will not fight. And you will pay for this.”
I laugh. That’s the best he’s
got? “All right, man.”
Turning, I head for the stairs.
“Wha— Where are you going?”
“I told you that I’m not killing you!” I call back, then bump Handlebar’s fist as he comes down. “But I am starting that clock. And you know the rules, Mr. Pearce—two men enter, one man leaves.”
And Crash gave me a future. Now I can give Handlebar this.
I head up to the kitchen and don’t bother to lock the door. Blowback and Gunner are waiting there.
“All done?”
“Except for the cleanup,” Gunner says, then eyes the basement door. “What about Papa?”
“There won’t be much left to clean up.” I pull out my phone, tag Bull and tell him to bring Maxine in. I’ll need to get the body off the porch.
But I think she’ll want to see the rest of this.
46
Maxine
Bull drives me to the farmhouse, but my heart doesn’t stop pounding until Stone meets me at the truck and pulls me in so tight against him.
“You aren’t going anywhere near that house,” he tells me. “But I want you to see that it’s done. We’re just waiting for Handlebar to finish up.”
I nod against his chest, then he turns me around to hold me against him, both of us facing the farmhouse. Every breath I take smells faintly of fuel.
Carrying a gas can, Hashtag comes out of the barn. “That van in there must have a million dollars worth of equipment in it,” he says, sounding awed. “Are we burning that, too, or should we break it down and sell it off?”
“Burn it,” Saxon orders. “If we start selling equipment that might be traced back to us, that million dollars won’t be worth shit.”
“It’s been a lot longer than fifteen minutes,” Zoomie says, frowning toward the house. “Do we need to go in and pull him out?”
Behind me, Stone shakes his head. “Give him another minute.”
My heart jumps into my throat when Handlebar emerges from the house, fists covered in blood. I make a sound and take a step forward, but Stone pulls me back.
