What He Wants (Book 3 after Phantom Riders MC-Hawk and No Mercy)

by Tory Richards

  One drunk driver in particular was the reason that I no longer had a family. I was sure that somewhere out there some distant relatives of mine were still around but the ones who had really mattered--my folks and younger brother--were gone because some asshole had thought that he could drive after downing a bottle of Jack. After I’d found out who he was, and had learned that he’d been convicted of DUI a few years earlier and had been let off with a slap on the wrist, I’d taken him out. I’d only been sixteen at the time.

  The sight of Talbot making his way to the table, a sleazy grin on his ugly mug, pulled my thoughts away from the truckers. What little hair he had left on his head looked like it was stuck against his scalp, and he was dressed in his usual suit that looked like a throwback from the fifties. Thought it made him look distinguished, he stood out like a sore fucking thumb in his rundown, shady establishment.

  “I know why you’re here,” was the first thing out of his mustached mouth when he reached our table.

  I glared with dislike into his beady little eyes. “That’s what I like and dislike about you, Talbot. You have no loyalty.”

  He shrugged. “Pays not to take sides,” he defended.

  “You’ve always been all about the money, asshole,” Clay sniggered. “Least you’re fucking consistent.”

  Jumper snorted, but said nothing.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” I growled impatiently. I didn’t want to waste any more time than I had to talking to this sleaze ball. “Why are we here?” I wasn’t about to put words into his fucking mouth.

  He chuckled. “Three words: Shooter, Demo, Whistler.”

  I crossed my arms and glared at him, when what I really wanted to do was reach up, grab him around the throat, and squeeze the information out of him. When he realized that I wasn’t going to play his game, he lost his smile and began to look at the three of us nervously. He should have known better than to fuck with us.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, they were here, last night. Had a few beers and took a couple of the girls with them when they left.” So, they were close. I remained silent, my gut telling me that there was more. Talbot liked to drag shit out for effect. “Said they were looking for an old friend they had some unfinished business with.”

  “He name that friend?” Jumper inquired gruffly.

  Whenever Talbot shifted his eyes, I knew he was about to tell a lie. I’d known him long enough to pick up on some of his telling quirks. And he was afraid. Swallowing hard meant that he was petrified, which he just did.

  “Do we need to take this back to your office?”

  His eyes got big at my question, and he stuttered, “No! No, that’s not necessary.” I grinned. “Shooter named you.” His gaze rested on me. “Said you two went way back but lost touch when he went to prison. Said he owed you something.”

  Yeah. A bullet between the eyes, if he seriously thought that I’d ratted him and the club out. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know where, I swear, Big John.”

  He was holding out for money. “You said they took a couple of girls with them, regulars?” Clay wanted to know. Talbot nodded. Clay leaned forward. “So, who are the girls?”

  “They haven’t shown up for work yet.”

  Clay made an impatient sound. “Then where do they live?”

  Talbot hesitated, glancing around as if looking for help or a way out. I followed the direction of his search, grinning when his bouncers remained standing at the exits with their arms crossed, their interest clearly on the strippers.

  “Cut the shit, Talbot.” I tossed a couple of hundreds at him. “You know us. We’re not going to hurt them,” I said. “Unless they give us reason to.”

  He took a breath. “Mindy and Jezzie share a small house. I’ll need to check their file in my office for the address.”

  “You do that,” I demanded. “And make sure that’s all you do when you’re in there.”

  With a nervous smile, he took off.

  “Think he’ll tip them off that we’re coming?”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” I replied to Jumper’s question. “The thing with Talbot is, he’s a two-faced fuck. Likes to think he’s friends with everyone, but no one trusts or respects him. He’ll take your money, but he’ll screw you over if someone else pays more.”

  The address Talbot gave us was for a house on Baker Pond. Most likely it had been a camp cottage at one time that had been converted for living year-round. The good news was that it would probably be isolated enough so that any neighbors close by wouldn’t see what was going on. The bad news was that the sound of our bikes would alert Shooter and his men long before we arrived. That meant that we’d be forced to abandon our bikes and make our way to the house on foot.

  I was surprised to find that the road leading to the pond had been plowed, realizing why as we passed several new homes. Since it was an old camp road, the property owners had probably paid for it themselves. It was easy to tell which houses had occupants because their driveways had also been shoveled. The small house we were looking for came into view, tucked close to the bank of the pond, surrounded by snow-capped trees. We kept low, halting a safe distance away once a car and a bike came into view.

  Jumper stated the obvious. “Two are missing.”

  “Maybe they’re parked around the back.”

  I snorted at Clay’s suggestion. “There is no back, asshole.” I squinted at the sides of the house, looking to see if two other bikes were stashed there in the bushes. If they were, they were hidden well.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  I thought for a minute. “I go in alone.” They didn’t look surprised. They shouldn’t have. I was known for doing shit my own way, and on my own. If I needed backup I knew that I could count on them, but for now I wanted to face Shooter alone. If Shooter was in there. I glanced again at the bike. Yeah, that was his old Harley Fat Boy, solid black, even the tire rims. But what made it stand out from all others was the custom painted TM and Glock on the tank. His favorite weapon of choice.

  “Don’t come in unless you hear bullets flying.”

  I didn’t wait for their responses. Using the surrounding shrubs for cover, I crouched my way as close as I could get before sprinting the last few feet to the house. I came up against the side where there was a window. I couldn’t hear anything coming from inside, and slowly straightened so that I could take a look inside. Fuck! The curtain was closed. I then worked my way toward the front door, taking the steps cautiously, but the dry, rotten wood made it impossible to keep quiet. I froze at the first fucking squeak, and waited. Still, I heard nothing that indicated that anyone was inside.

  When I reached the door, I pulled my weapon, took a step back, and kicked the door open. It flew back against the wall with a bang as I raised my gun and stepped inside, coming face to face with a Glock. Shit! I came to an abrupt halt, meeting the deadly calm in Shooter’s knowing eyes. He was standing there, half undressed, while a naked woman who was clutching a pillow was cowering on an old plaid sofa behind him.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Shooter grumbled, his expression not giving anything away. He’d changed, and it didn’t look like his years behind bars had been good to him. He’d gotten a little thinner, a little grayer, but he hadn’t lost his edge.

  I knew that he was as dangerous now as the day he’d gone into prison.

  “So it appears.” I kept my gun aimed at the spot between his eyes. If he fired, we’d both go down. “Heard you were looking for me.”

  “Knew that pussy Talbot would talk.”

  The fact that Talbot had obviously warned Shooter we were on our way revealed that Shooter had paid him more money. “Seems you got what you wanted.” Shooter nodded. The woman on the couch whimpered, but neither of us acknowledged her. Depending on how this played out, she was a liability we couldn’t afford.

  “Rats like to stick together.”

  There it was. His way of telling me he’d thought I’d betrayed the club, a
nd that because of it half of them had ended up in prison. “Thought you knew me better than that.”

  “Thought I did.” His expression turned harder, the lines of age and hard times stamped like the roads of an old map on his face. “You left. Shit went down. Someone ratted us out.”

  “Wasn’t me,” I said without hesitation. “You know why I left the club.”

  “Yeah. The timing was convenient.”

  I shrugged. “Coincidence.” Enough of this shit. “So, where’s Demo and Whistler?” I saw his gaze shift at something behind me, a warning that came too late.

  “Right behind you, asshole.”

  I froze. Fuck! While I’d been spending time bullshitting with Shooter, his assassins had been sneaking up behind me. The woman’s constant sniffling had made it easy for them. It wasn’t often that someone got the drop on me, but I knew Demo and Whistler were fucking good at what they did. It seemed that their years in prison hadn’t affected their skills. I was pissed for being in this position. The only thing in my favor now was that Clay and Jumper may have witnessed their arrival.

  I knew that I had to make a move when I heard the guns cock behind me. The woman began to wail louder, as if sensing what was about to happen. “So, this is how it’s going to go down?”

  “Tying up loose ends,” Shooter said, with no regret. “Sucks we were friends, but you should understand club procedure.” His eyes shifted to my enforcer’s patch.

  It was during that brief second that I decided to make my move, when his gaze was focused on my patch. I grabbed the gun he had in my face and twisted his arm down, swinging Shooter around in front of me at the same time. One of his brothers fired in response, but the bullet ripped into Shooter. He grunted, the force pushing him further back into me, and I let him fall to the floor, firing my weapon in the direction of where Demo and Whistler disappeared through the open doorway.

  The woman was screaming now, but I ignored her and turned my attention to the door, just in time to dive behind an old arm chair to avoid a bullet. Demo fired off a couple of rounds, aiming blindly into the room. Shit! I looked at the woman. “Get your ass out of here!” I didn’t really give a shit about her, but I didn’t want to see her shot up either. She surprised me by jumping off the couch and running out of the room. I checked on Shooter to make sure that he was still down, because I didn’t know how bad he’d been shot.

  A movement at the door drew my gaze there, and I saw Whistler show himself. I fired in his direction. He fired back. And then more gunfire followed, revealing that Clay and Jumper were moving up behind them. Demo and Whistler were literally boxed in between me and my brothers. I could only guess that one of them was exchanging gunfire with my brothers, while the other was focused on taking me out. A groan from the floor revealed that Shooter was still alive, but I ignored him, taking careful aim not to shoot my brothers when Demo showed his face.

  We exchanged rapid gunfire, and then I saw Demo’s body jerk and a look of disbelief come over his face, a look of surprise and shock at being hit. He was hugging the doorjamb as if it were the only thing holding him up. He coughed, grimaced, dropped his gun, and sank to the ground, half inside the room. I instinctively knew that he was dead. I made my way to the front door to take care of Whistler. I got there in time to see Clay and Jumper rushing toward the house, and Whistler nowhere in sight.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Fucker took off when the other one went down,” Jumper explained, out of breath.

  I watched Clay’s eyes follow the direction Whistler must have taken. Before he even disappeared out of sight, we heard the sound of a bike starting up and revving away. The sound grew increasingly distant, which told me that Whistler was getting the hell out of there as fast as he could. Clay came back, a disgusted look on his face.

  “Some fucking assassin!” he swore in a gritty tone.

  “They’re good at killing. Never said they were brave,” I snorted. “Least we got two of them.”

  “Which one is he?” Clay kicked the boot of the man that was bleeding out on the ground.

  “Demo. Whistler took off. Shooter is inside.” It was then that we heard the distinctive sound of another bike starting up. I swung around to look inside. “Fuck!” I punched the side of the building. Shooter was gone. “Goddammit! Shooter is fucking gone.”

  That wasn’t good.

  Chapter 12

  Daisy

  Two days! Two freaking days since Big John had dropped me off at the clubhouse, fucked me like it was our last time, and then disappeared without a word. I hadn’t seen him since. Thank goodness Jasmine was there, because otherwise I would have taken my crap and walked back to my house. She was just as upset that Clay had disappeared, too. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were together. We had questioned Hawk, since he was their president, only to be told in his cold and moody way that it was club business and, therefore, none of ours. His wife, Audra, had been sweeter about it and more understanding about our anger. She and the other old ladies had taken us under their wing and had explained how MC’s worked.

  Well, their MC, anyway.

  I’d learned that most outlaw clubs followed the same formula, but that each had subtle differences. The one constant seemed to be that it was better not to know about “club business” so that you would never have to lie if the law came calling. Not that any of the old ladies that I had met would ever have betrayed their men. They seemed to be genuinely enamored with those rough, dirty-mouthed bikers, and the men were just as captivated with their women. Proof of that had been shown by more than one demonstration of affection between the couples who were wandering around the clubhouse.

  The couples didn’t seem to care if they had an audience during a smoldering kiss or an intimate touch, even when it sometimes caused me to look away uncomfortably. Despite these awkward moments, I had to admit to myself that thinking about Big John doing the same to me was a turn-on that I didn’t want to mull over for too long. His intensity scared me at times. I guessed that that was why he was the enforcer. From what little I’d learned from the other women, his job was to keep the peace, and to keep the club safe, by whatever means were necessary. Maybe I didn’t want to know exactly what that meant.

  “How’s it going?” I jumped slightly at the sound of Jasmine’s voice behind me. She laughed. “Were you daydreaming?”

  “Kind of,” I smiled, reaching for another head of lettuce. I’d offered to make the salad for lunch/dinner, and was in the kitchen next to the huge farmer’s sink, washing the veggies as I went along. “What are you up to?” Jasmine wasn’t a domestic kind of girl who enjoyed doing mundane things like cooking and cleaning, so she was not in the kitchen helping like some of the other women were.

  “I found a job I’m good at.” I paused to give her a long, doubtful look, knowing what her background was. Her smile turned into a giggle. “Oh, come on, honey! I can tell what you’re thinking by your look. Do you really think I’d be doing that here? I doubt these guys have a nickel between them, and besides, some of them don’t look like they bathe regularly.”

  My jaw dropped with shock, and then I slowly realized that she was joking. “You’re terrible!” I chuckled.

  “Had you going, didn’t I,” she nudged me in the shoulder. “That life is behind me, honey, you know that, and besides, I have Clay now. The man’s a God and a sex machine in bed. All you have to do is drop in a quarter and he just keeps going and going like The Energizer Bunny.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So, what are you doing to help out?”

  “I’ve been helping out with the little ones, giving their moms a break, bringing them food and drinks, I even changed one of the babies.” Once again, I paused to give her a stunned look. “I know! Who would have thought that I liked children? But I find that I do.”

  “Wow. Maybe being here is going to be good for you. Maybe it will show you that there’s more to a relationship than sex.” I was cutting up celery now. “I’d like to see yo
u happy and settled down.”

  It grew quiet between us for a minute, and I knew that Jasmine was thinking about her past. She’d often stated that no man would want an ex-prostitute for a wife, much less for the mother of his children. Usually self-assured and vibrant, that was the one thing she let hold her back. She was convinced that she was tainted and didn’t deserve to find that kind of happiness.

  “Stop it,” I said, tossing some cherry tomatoes into the huge bowl. “Stop thinking negative thoughts. We shape our own lives, honey, but you have to fight for what you want. If something isn’t working--” I instantly thought about my crappy life with Paul, “then you change it.” I gave her a meaningful look. “You know that.” She released a sigh and nodded. “So, you like Clay a lot, huh?”

  Her face lit up. “Yeah, for some strange reason I do. It started out as just sex, but I don’t know . . .” She shrugged. “He’s different from any man I’ve ever met. Rough, controlling, intense.” She halted for a minute, as if thinking about what she wanted to say. “And he’s annoying as hell, but he gets to me. He makes me feel . . .” She paused, searching for the right word. “Special.”

  I grinned. “Are you in love with him?”

  Her expression immediately fell. “No! What? No way! It’s too damned soon for that.” She made a tisking sound. “Where did that come from? Gee, slow down, girl.”

  “Okay, okay,” I laughed, cutting up some carrots. She was right. She and Clay hadn’t been together long enough for it to have turned into something more serious. He wasn’t exactly the kind of man you brought home to the family, but if Jasmine was happy, that was all that mattered.