by Evelyn Glass
“You’re really not in the Saracens, are you?” Ironside asked.
“No!”
Ironside nodded. “My great-grandfather founded the Teutonic Knights in 1951. They started out grafting the shipping lines. A pay a protection fee or something may happen to your cargo kind of thing. A few years later, five I think, he caught his VP at the time balls deep in his wife. Gert, that’s my great-grandfather, shot him and his wife both and left them for dead. His wife died, but Hank didn’t. When he recovered, he started the Saracens. We’ve been trying to gut each other since. I’m trying to change that.”
“You are? Who’re you?”
“I’m the President of the Knights. This is Whiteshirt. He’s my VP.”
“Whiteshirt?”
“Hafdan Gustaffson, actually, but he goes by Whiteshirt. It’s a long story,” Ironside said when Peyton looked at him quizzically.
“So, Raymond Burr, what are you going to do with me?” Ironside looked at her oddly. “Raymond Burr? Perry Mason? Ironside? The television show? Never mind,” she said waving her hand.
“What do you think, Whiteshirt? You think she’s telling the truth?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Her answers seem a little too pat, like she had them memorized and ready for the questions.”
“Or here’s a thought! Maybe I’m telling the truth,” Peyton responded.
“What did you hear when you came in?” Whiteshirt asked.
“What?”
“Ironside and I were talking business when you came in. I think it’s very convenient you arrived when you did. What do you know about the missing guns?”
“What guns?”
“You don’t know about the missing guns? Whiteshirt asked.
“No! Why would I know anything about that? The guys don’t talk to me. The only time they say anything to me at all is when they’re going to stick their cock in me.”
Whiteshirt looked to Ironside who shrugged. “We don’t talk in front of our club girls either,” Ironside said.
“Did you see a guy walk out just before you came in?” Whiteshirt continued.
“No, why?”
“You didn’t see anyone leave?” he pressed.
“I don’t know! Maybe! I wasn’t paying attention, okay? I was more concerned getting off the street and out of sight before I was spotted.”
“By who?”
“Who do you think?”
Whiteshirt shook his head. There were too many coincidences, and it made him nervous. “I think we should just chuck her ass back on the other side of ninety.”
“No! Don’t do that! Please! I’m sure I can tell you something. I heard things, but I don’t know if they’re important.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like the Saracens’ President is Andrew Moore.”
“We already knew that.”
“Okay, but I didn’t know if you knew it.”
“So tell us what you know. We’ll decide if it’s important.”
Peyton chewed on her bottom lip. “If I tell you what I know, you’ll give me and Melissa safe passage out of town? Even if it’s not important?”
“She’s lying!” Honey called from her chair, getting up and walking to the table. “She can spill a bunch of shit that doesn’t help us at all, or worse, tell us a bunch of lies.”
Whiteshirt nodded. “She’s right.”
Peyton bit her tongue. “I’m not lying. I just want to leave. You can put us on the train yourselves.”
“Train!” Honey sniffed. “Nobody rides the train. It’s just an excuse.”
Ironside looked to Peyton. “What about it? Why not a plane, or the bus?”
“I can’t afford plane tickets.”
“The bus?”
“If the Saracens find out, they can stop a bus. I’d like to see them try to stop a train.”
Ironside thought it over. She was either the best liar he’d seen in a while, or she had carefully thought this through. There was no reason for her to come here. This was one of their bars, sure, but the only reason he and Whiteshirt were here was to meet Luke, and they hadn’t even known about the meeting themselves two hours ago. There was one way to check her story, though.
“When’s Melissa supposed to be here?”
“When she can get here.” When he continued to stare at her she continued. “I’m supposed to wait. She was getting fucked when I left. So some time after that. It’s not like she can say, ‘You need to hurry this up, I have a train to catch,’ you know?”
“Okay,” Ironside said, making a decision. “If this Melissa shows up, and you tell us something useful about the Saracens, we’ll make it worth your time. We’ll buy your tickets and make sure you get on the train safely.”
Honey knew better than to question Ironside in front of anyone, but she didn’t believe Peyton’s story for a second. “Yeah, and if she doesn’t show up, we’ll know it’s all a bunch of lies.”
Peyton glared at the woman. “You need to put some ice on that.”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
***
They waited an hour, Peyton rambling on about what she could remember from the Saracens. “I think we’re done here,” Ironside said. She hadn’t told them shit they could use.
Peyton swallowed hard. “Wait! I told you I didn’t know if anything was important.”
“It sure as hell wasn’t,” Whiteshirt muttered.
“She’ll show, I swear!” Peyton cried softly, trying to salvage something.
“Call her,” Honey challenged.
Peyton reached to the floor and pulled her duffle up and dug out her phone. “Melissa. Peyton. I have a situation here. Let me know where you are and when you’re going to get here as soon as you can.” She hung up and stared at the phone a moment. “Maybe she’s having to pull a train,” she said softly, then dropped the phone back into the duffle.
Ironside heard the regret in her voice, but they couldn’t spend all day in the bar. “We need to go.”
“What about her?” Whiteshirt asked.
“We’ll take her with us.”
“No!” Peyton and Honey said at the same time.
“If she’s a spy, you don’t want her in the clubhouse. She could plant a bug or God knows what!” Honey said rapidly.
“I can’t leave until Melissa gets here!” Peyton said, talking over Honey.
“I have to agree with Honey,” Whiteshirt said. “Too much risk to take her back to the clubhouse.”
Ironside frowned. Whiteshirt was invaluable to the Knights, but he worried over everything, and after a while it got tiresome. “Risk how? We take her phone, we keep someone on her, what’s she going to do?”
“I don’t know, but why take the chance?”
“What do you suggest we do with her?”
“Kick her ass and drop her on the other side!” Honey cried, waving her arms in exasperation. “That’s what we’ve always done!”
“I told her we’d let her go if her story panned out. She may not have done anything to deserve getting her ass kicked,” Ironside said.
“That’s just it! It hasn’t panned out,” Honey said, staring daggers as Peyton.
“It will! I swear! Melissa will show up, and I never said I knew anything important! Please!”
“I’ll follow your lead, but I’m recommending we don’t take her to the clubhouse. Even if she isn’t a Saracen, she isn’t one of us,” Whiteshirt pointed out.
“Okay, now you’re talking sense,” Ironside agreed. “But we can’t leave her here, in case you’re right.”
“Please,” Peyton begged. “Just let me wait on Melissa. She’ll show up. I know she will.”
Ironside thought for a minute. “What’s she look like?”
“Who? Melissa?” Peyton pulled her duffle up again and retrieved her phone. She tapped a moment then scrolled through photos until she found a good one of Melissa. She turned the phone to show Ironside.
He nodded. “We’re leaving. Show Paul. He’ll cal
l me if she comes in.”
“But—” Peyton began.
“Would you rather I just kick your ass and drop you on the other side, just to be sure?”
“No,” she said softly, looking down.
They began to slide out of the booth. “You’re not bringing her to the clubhouse are you?” Honey asked. The last thing she wanted was Peyton in the clubhouse after she kicked her ass. Her face was swollen already, and the girls were going to notice, but it would be better if they only heard her side of the story.
“No. You ride back with Whiteshirt.”
“Where are you going?”
“I guess I’m taking her to my house.”
“What?” Honey squawked. That was even worse!
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Whiteshirt asked. “Not many people know where you live.”
Ironside smiled as Honey nodded her head furiously, but she didn’t fool him for a moment. She wasn’t as concerned for his safety as much as she didn’t want him taking another woman home with him, especially the one who had mopped the floor with her.
“What do you suggest I do with her?” Neither of them had a quick answer for that. “What’s in that bag of yours?” he asked, turning to Peyton.
“A few clothes. Why?”
“Let me see,” he said, taking the bag from her. He unzipped it and began to pile her clothes on the table, pausing to look at a racy pair or underwear. “Nice,” he said, holding them up for display before adding them to the pile, then pulling out a bright scarf. He sat it aside and piled everything back in the bag and zipped it closed. “Blindfold,” he said as he folded it over into a thin band.
“Thanks for keeping everything neat,” she muttered.
“Go show Paul the picture,” he ordered.
“Are you sure about this?” Whiteshirt asked softly as Peyton stepped away.
“We don’t beat women for no reason. You’re right about the clubhouse, and you’re right she might be a spy. But until I know for sure, I’m not going to hurt her.”
“But you don’t trust her?”
Ironside smiled. “Hell no! If she’s lying, I’ll personally kick her ass.”
“How long are you going to wait?”
“If this Melissa chick doesn’t show up tonight, then we’ll know. But I want to pump her for information before we send her anywhere. She may know more than she realizes. When you get back to the clubhouse, get together a list of things we want to know. Be sure to put some things on there we know the answer to so we can tell if she’s lying. I’ll bring her by in the morning and we’ll squeeze her before we take her to the train station…or I kick her ass off on the other side.”
Whiteshirt nodded, mollified Ironside wasn’t thinking entirely with his little head.
Peyton turned away from Paul, her eyes down, and Ironside watched as she walked toward them. If she was acting, she was damn good at it. “Let’s go,” he said as he started for the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
She’d never ridden a bike before the Saracens picked her up, and wasn’t completely comfortable riding yet. Now, with the blindfold on, she was anything but comfortable. Not being able to see she felt like she was falling off the bike the moment it started to move, so she leaned in close and held on tight.
She had no idea of direction or distance, only that they rode on an interstate, then exited first onto a major road, then quieter roads. The bike healed hard right, then bumped slightly before accelerating easily then pulling to a smooth stop before falling silent.
“You can take your blindfold off now,” Ironside said.
She reached behind her and slipped the scarf off her head. They were sitting behind a small mottled brown brick house with a matching detached garage. “This where you live?”
“Yes, why?”
“Just asking.” She stepped off the Harley and looked around. Andrew lived in a huge house, but this house was much smaller, and considerably older, with a steeply pitched roof and small windows. As she waited, he typed some numbers on a keypad to open the garage door, then sat on the bike and kicked it inside and parked it beside a beautiful old car.
“What kind of car is that?” she asked.
“’68 Chevelle SS Convertible.”
The car was gorgeous. A deep, rich, metallic blue so dark she first thought it was black, the car sat hunkered low over its big, fat, tires. It looked fast just sitting there. “Did it always look like that?”
Ironside laughed as he stepped off his bike and removed the helmet. “Hardly. I spent five years and God only knows how much money to make it look like that. It’s a new car underneath. It has the same LS9 motor as a Corvette ZR1.”
She was new to bikes, but she loved fast cars. “Take me for a ride?”
“No,” he said as he pressed a button to start the door down.
She followed him to the back door and looked around as he unlocked. This was obviously an older neighborhood, but the houses were lovingly maintained. Ironside’s was no exception, and his landscaping looked like a golf course.
She followed him inside. Ironside’s house might be smaller, and older, than Andrew’s, but it had a charm that Andrew’s lacked. While Andrew’s house was far more spacious, it was garish, pull of expensive trinkets, loud colors and animal print fabrics. Ironside’s house, on the other hand, was warm and cozy, with hardwoods extending through the kitchen into the rest of the house. The kitchen was painted a light butter yellow with complimentary tile accents on the walls and Corian counter tops.
“Want a beer?” he asked as he opened the fridge, offering her one. When she took it, he pulled another out for himself.
“Nice house,” she said as she twisted the lid off and took a pull, smacking her lips. “First Guinness I’ve had. It’s good.”
“Thanks. Want the nickel tour?”
“Sure.”
“Kitchen, obviously,” he said as he moved from the kitchen. “This is the family room.”
The room was painted a rich sage. The small windows would have made the room dark, but the brilliant white trim, cream-colored furniture and dazzling spots in the ceiling made it dramatic instead. The best feature of the room was the large fireplace whose stones were almost the exact color of the brick used on the outside of the house.
“Master suite,” he said as he led her into a small hall then stepped aside.
The bedroom was dominated by the bed, the largest she’d ever seen, but as big as he was he probably needed the room. The walls were a pale grey, but again accented with brilliant white trim. The furniture was sleek and modern with rounded corners, the oak glowing as if oiled.
The bathroom was stark white with a round shower, of all things, in the center of the room, the water from the ceiling-mounted showerhead contained in a large glass tube.
He led her up the steps to two more bedrooms, both with pitched ceilings, one of which contained a massive television along with a couch and a huge piece of exercise equipment. Both were arranged to where the person sitting on the couch or using the gym could see the television. The third bedroom, the smallest, housed a regular size bed and more simple but expensive looking furniture.
“I’m impressed,” she said honestly as he led her back down the step. His house was beautiful, elegant, spotlessly clean, and totally unlike Andrew’s.
“I like it. My great-grandfather had it built.”
“And now it’s yours.”
He nodded, but she thought he looked a little down. “Yeah. I moved in a few years back. The place was in pretty good shape. I had it painted, pulled the carpets up and had the floors done, updated the kitchens and bath, and that’s about it. Want another?” he asked as he led her back into the kitchen.
“Sure, why not?”
She watched as he removed his leather jacket and hung it in a small closet by the back door. When he turned away from the door she was able to get a good look at him for the first time. Ironside was fucking huge. She already knew he was tall, at least 6’4
, but with his jacket removed she could see he was built like a professional body builder, his massive arms and chest barely contained by his shirt. Her eyes wandered down his body, noting his stark “V” shape before his narrow waist flared again into massive legs. She liked big men. The bigger, and the more muscular, the better.
With his strong chin and cheek bones, close cropped beard, arrogant narrow nose, long blonde hair, and striking blue eyes, all he needed was a reindeer pelt, leather forearm guards, a sword and a steel helmet with horns to be a Viking. As she thought of him standing on a wooden ship, a sword in one hand, a war-hammer in the other, his muscles bulging as he roared a challenge to his enemies, she felt a moistness form between her legs.
