HANDS OFF MY WIFE_Black Cossacks MC

by Claire St. Rose

  “I'll do what I can, Mahoney,” I said, not meeting his gaze. “I'll do what I can.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  KING

  I left Mahoney behind as I walked out of the interview room. As I passed Sanderson, he sneered at me again. I could see by the look on his face that he wanted to toss me into a cell and throw away the key. Or just shoot me. They had no choice but to let me walk, though. They had nothing on me, no reason to keep me.

  “Hey, Sergeant,” I called. “You've got some donut residue on your uniform. You might want to do somethin' about it. Gives the wrong impression and all.”

  His face turned an unnatural shade of red as he looked at me. I heard some stifled snickers from around the room and saw some of the cops trying to hide their faces.

  “Go fuck yourself, dirtbag,” he snapped.

  As soon as I stepped out into the sunshine and got on my bike, I headed over to the clubhouse for an update and to make sure the Incas weren't causing any trouble. It's not like we had any sort of control over what happened. I'd get them their drugs – it was just going to take a little bit longer than we'd agreed upon. Not much I could do about it, though. It's not like I'd called the fuckin' cops.

  Our clubhouse wasn't too far from Abbie's apartment complex. It was a little farther away from the city limits and was surrounded by large trees. The gravel parking lot was filled with a host of familiar bikes. And no unfamiliar ones. Most of my boys were there, which I took to be a good sign. And there was no sign of the Incas at our clubhouse. Which was an even better sign.

  “Hey, King,” Roy called out to me as I stepped inside the building. “Have a good time with the popo, did ya?”

  Roy and the others laughed, but I flipped them off. Grabbing a beer from the fridge in the shop, I sat down on a stool and took a nice, long swig. Some of the guys stepped into the shop and gathered around. I noticed that a few of them were walking around strapped. Which was a bit unusual. Some of them looked a little tense, as if they were on edge. Maybe they were. Maybe they were expecting the Incas to come storming in here with guns blazing.

  “Anything going on I need to be aware of?” I asked.

  Roy stood up from where he'd been working on his bike, wiping his oil-slicked hands on his jeans. “Not a whole lot really. I heard they dragged El Segador down to the station on a couple of old warrants for parking tickets.”

  I laughed. “They're creative,” I said. “I'll give Mahoney and his boys that.”

  “El Segador probably isn't in a very good mood today,” Roy said. “Last I heard, they sweated him all fuckin' night.”

  Which might have explained the heightened tension in the station when I was there. “Yeah? What happened?”

  Roy shrugged. “They had nothin' on him. And you know that son of a bitch ain't gonna crack. He got out within hours.”

  “Probably cut a deal with the cops,” Gunner said, still on the ground, replacing the wheel on his bike.

  “They had nothin' on him,” I said. “No deal to cut.”

  “Whatever,” Gunner said. “I hate that son of a bitch. He's creepy as fuck.

  I nodded, agreeing with him. El Segador – Spanish for “the Reaper” – was creepy. There was something that just wasn't right about that guy. Something that even managed to unnerve me a bit.

  “Doesn't matter what he's doin',” I said. “Have they been in touch yet?”

  “Yeah, they want to meet up tonight. Midnight. They choose the spot this time, somewhere more secure, apparently.”

  I nodded and bit my tongue. I hadn't yet told anyone the biggest problem we were going to run into with this whole clusterfuck. And it was the one thing that stressed me the most – we no longer had the drugs the Incas wanted. I needed to get them back from Abbie, which may or may not be easy to do depending on how pissed she was going to be.

  She was a little spitfire, that one. But one way or another, I needed those drugs back. All of my hopes and dreams were riding on it. It was my ticket out of this life and into something that was going to be much, much better. I'd be lying, though, if I said there wasn't some part of me that wanted to see that hot little body one more time. Three guesses about what that part of me was. I wanted to see her again, but she wasn't exactly my type. That girl was a little too feisty for my liking. I preferred my women a little more submissive, a little more willing to ride on the back of my bike rather than demand to be the driver. Nobody drove my bike but me. All of that aside, though, I had to admit she was damn fine to look at.

  “King?” Roy asked me, waving his hand in front of my face. “You with us, man?”

  Turning my attention back to the older man, I said, “What?”

  Annoyance creeped into my voice, but that was because I was stressed and had a lot on my mind. This deal was huge and too important to screw up. I needed this. I'd screwed up a lot of things in my life, but this was the one thing I needed to go right. To go smoothly. Or, at least, smoother than the rough start it had gotten off to. I needed to find a way to pull this back and make it right. I had to.

  Roy looked at me. “I asked you what happened to the stuff last night? One minute you're holding them, ready to pass them off to El Segador – ”

  I stopped him right there with a look that would have frozen water. “Let's stop using his fucking lame nickname like he's some goddamn avenging angle or something, okay? I'm tired of hearing it. He's no fucking Reaper if you ask me. He's a little punk who thinks a gun makes him invincible. He's an arrogant, cocky little bastard.”

  Roy and Gunner shot each other a look as the older man scratched his long, scraggly beard. I could see it in their eyes; they were wondering what the fuck was going on with me. I saw it in their eyes, but I couldn't give them the answers they wanted. To be honest, some days I wondered what in the fuck was going on with me. There had been a time when I couldn't have dreamed of a life that didn't involve the club. I loved riding. I'd loved being a part of a club. In a lot of ways, these guys were the family I didn't have.

  But something along the way changed. It had started a little while ago, the thought that there was a better life to be had outside of the club. Running drugs and beating people up on our security jobs had just lost their appeal to me. I woke up one day and realized that I wanted more. I wanted a life that didn't include doing illegal shit, possibly getting myself killed by a rival gang – or somebody inside my own club who wanted my seat. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and wondering if today is the day I'm going to catch a bullet to the head. I wanted to live. I wanted to have a life. I wanted to see things. Do things. I wanted more.

  I just wanted this deal done. Done and over with. Working with The Incas wasn't my idea and it was something that made me incredibly leery to begin with. If I'd had my way, we would have never climbed into bed with them in the first place. They were bad people. Really bad people. And they were people I wanted nothing to do with. But doing this deal with them was the only way to get enough money to retire comfortably and get out of this life once and for all.

  “Fine. Eduardo it is. We'll stop with the nickname if it makes you feel better,” Roy huffed, clenching his jaw. “But you still haven't answered the question. One minute you had the stuff in hand and were ready to hand it off to him, and the next minute, they're gone. I asked everybody here and you didn't give them to nobody. So where in the hell is the stuff? What gives with the disappearing act, man? What in the hell is going on?”

  There was a throbbing beginning in my head. Stress headache. I seemed to have started getting them more often ever since I took over the leadership of the club. Small wonder. But I couldn't let them know I didn't have the dope with me. I couldn't let them know what I'd done. They would have been pissed. And rightly so. I'd panicked and had pulled a rookie move. So instead of telling them, I shrugged and blew it off. Being the president of the club came with certain advantages – like not having to explain myself to anybody.

  “Don't worry about it. The
y're safe. All you need to know is to be ready because we're still good to go tonight with The Incas. Reach out to Eduardo and tell him to let us know where to meet him and his boys and the deal will be done tonight.”

  I stood up and headed toward my bike, knowing what I had to do. I had to run over to Abbie's apartment, make nice, and somehow get the bag of drugs back from her. Hopefully she hadn't opened her bag yet and didn't even know they were in there. But the way my luck was running, the odds of that happening were about as good as the Incas not killing somebody in the next week. I would just have to deal with Abbie as I hoped and prayed she didn't flush them down the toilet or turn them over to the cops. I really hoped that if she'd found them, she'd simply give me a little talkin’ to while I was over there, too. Which, I was sure, would be a whole lot of fun. But it was the price of doing business. At least, I'd get to stare at that rack while she was busy reading me the riot act. So I at least had that to look forward to.

  I just hoped she didn't do anything stupid with them.

  “Where ya going now?” Roy asked me.

  “I'll be back, don't worry,” I said. “The deal's on. You've got nothin' to worry about.”

  Because there was no way I was going to let some feisty brunette ruin this whole deal for us. There was no way I was going to let her ruin this for me. No way in hell I was going to let that happen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ABBIE

  I sat in my living room waiting. Waiting for that familiar sound of engines revving. I knew they'd be back and that my little show last night hadn't done a damn thing to dissuade them. Assholes. My hope was that, maybe, the cops scared them away from hanging out in my parking lot. I knew it was a silly hope and one not likely to be fulfilled. I knew they'd be back as sure as I knew my own name.

  At least one of them would be back, anyway. My hope was that he wouldn't bring his whole group of thugs with him. But I knew he was coming. I had something of his, something worth a lot of money. And something I was sure he desperately wanted back. As I looked at the bag sitting on my coffee table, I knew it was something he'd be back for. There was no two ways about it. The question was when would he be coming for it?

  My eyes were drifting shut as I sat on my couch, waiting for him to show up. I looked at the clock and saw it was just after eight. It wasn't that late yet, but I was exhausted. Running on little to no sleep for days at a time would do that to a person. And it was because of those assholes that I was in this seemingly perpetual zombified state.

  I'd nearly dozed off in front of the TV when I heard that familiar and oh-so-annoying sound. Immediately, my heart began to race – but not with fear. With anger. Lots and lots of anger.

  I stopped to listen and was surprised by what I heard. A motorcycle had pulled into the parking lot – just one motorcycle, though. I was surprised he hadn't brought his goons to back him up. Part of me wondered if maybe it wasn't him after all. But when the sound of the bike stopped, I knew he was here for me.

  Getting up off the couch, I went over to my window and looked outside. Unsurprisingly, I saw the blonde haired leader of that group of assholes climbing off of his bike. I grabbed his bag of shit, raced out my door, and flew down the stairs. I'd just made it out the front gate of the complex when I saw him about to ring my buzzer.

  He shook his head and his scraggly blonde hair covered his face for a moment. But with one sweeping gesture, he pushed all of it back, showing me those deep, blue eyes. He obviously hadn't shaved in a few days – at least – so a little scruff covered much of his face. But underneath it all, you could still see his chiseled features, plain as day. And that body – clad in tight black jeans, a black t-shirt that clung to his chest, and a leather jacket – nearly made me stop in my tracks. But I wasn't about to let myself get caught up in his good looks. Oh, hell no. I was pissed and had every right to be. I was going to make sure he didn't leave my complex without a very large, very irate piece of my mind. He turned those blue eyes on me and smiled. And I stopped.

  Goddamn him. That cocky, arrogant smile made my blood boil and made me want to hit him with something. He hadn't said but a handful of words to me so far in all the time I'd been fighting with them. So when he merely held out his hand as if he'd expected I'd just hand over the goods like a good little girl, I wasn't entirely surprised. He was such a smug, arrogant prick. But he wouldn't be getting off that easy. If he thought that, he had another thing coming. He'd put me at risk. He'd planted drugs on me without my consent. Hell, he'd planted drugs on me without my knowledge! Not to mention all of the goddamn trouble he'd caused me and my neighbors by hanging out in our parking lot, being loud and obnoxious, night after night with his gang of unruly friends.

  Nope, I wasn't about to let him get off that easily. Who did he think he was?

  “Excuse me, but I think you have some explaining to do,” I said sharply. I kept the bag firmly in my hand – which I held behind my back, trying my best to hide it so it didn't look like I was involved in a drug deal.

  A deep, manly laugh escaped his throat – which only served to make me even angrier than I already was. After all that he'd done, after all the trouble he'd caused, and the risk he'd exposed me to – he was going to laugh at me? Really?

  “I don't see what's so funny about all this,” I said, my jaw set, standing my ground.

  He might be twice my height and triple my weight – he was after all, a big brute of a man – but there was no way I was going to let that intimidate me. Men like him were used to pushing people around, getting their way because they scared people. But I wasn't about to back down. I wasn't about to be afraid. I was going to show him that I wasn't some pushover or somebody he could easily dismiss. I was going to speak my mind and show him that I wasn't going to be intimidated by him.

  “You're funny, Abbie. You've got some spunk, that's for sure,” he said at last, his voice coming out deep, but somewhat softer than I'd expected it to. It was almost gentle – which seemed somewhat at odds with his physical appearance.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked. I tried to think back to last night and the only thing I could remember was telling the cop. “Never mind. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're an arrogant asshole. You're rude. Condescending. And I haven't had a good night's sleep in I don't know how long because you and your troglodyte friends make it impossible to get any sleep. It's bullshit!”

  “I'm King,” he said, reaching out his hand again as if to shake mine, but I wasn't about to fall for that.

  He still wanted me to hand over the goods and was trying to bait me with his polite act. But I wasn't going to fall for it. Wasn't going to happen. No way, no how. He wasn't getting his shit until he heard me out and made certain promises to me. Eventually, as I stared at his hand like a coiled serpent and refused to touch it, he dropped his hand and shook his head. What I wouldn't give to hear his thoughts in that moment.

  “For someone so desperate to get back what I have, you sure seem to be having a helluva time there, King,” I said, shaking the bag in front of me, letting him see that, yes, I, indeed, had what he wanted.

  I looked him in the eye and planted my feet firmly to the ground. I was letting him know that if he wanted it back, at the very least, he was going to have to apologize. Not only that, but he was going to have to give me his word that he and his band of hooligans were never going to come around and bother me and my neighbors ever again.

  “I'm never desperate,” he said, narrowing his gaze on me, causing my skin to flush. There was something in his eyes that said he wasn't talking about the bag full of drugs I was waving around in front of him. “But I would appreciate it if you handed over what's rightfully mine. I really don't want things to get unpleasant.”

  “Don't you dare threaten me, you fucking cretin. And what are you talking about? What's rightfully yours?” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Unbelievable. You slipped this into my bag without my consent and now you're acting like I stole something from you.”
<
br />   “Look,” he said. “I just want to – ”

  “I don't give a shit what you want,” I hissed. “You're not in control here. I am. You are going to apologize to me and then you are going to give me your word that you and your asshole buddies are never going to darken my doorstep again.”

  “Yeah, that's not going to – ”

  “Listen here, asshole,” I snapped, cutting him off again, “you may be king of your band of assholes, but you're not king of the world. So fuck off already. And since possession is nine-tenths of the law, it looks like this bag of shit is mine to do with as I wish. In fact, I may go back upstairs and just flush this all down the toilet. What would you think about that, King Asshole?”

  His eyes narrowed and I saw anger flash through them. He took a step toward me and without thinking about it, I turned and as hard as I could, I threw the bag over the chain link fence that was off to my right. It felt so good to throw it; it was almost cathartic. And I was proud of myself for my act of defiance. There was no way in hell I was letting that prick push me around.