“I'm sorry, Abbie,” I said. “We'll talk more about this later. I promise.”
She turned and walked into the living room and dropped down on the couch without a word. Without even looking at me. I didn't know how, but I was going to have to smooth this over. Somehow.
Walking outside, I nodded to El and Duke, then watched them disappear into Abbie's apartment. Nodding to Drew, we climbed onto our bikes and rode off into the belly of the beast.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
KING
We pulled off the road at a small roadside diner about half an hour later. I climbed off my bike and went inside, Drew close behind me. We grabbed a booth near the back and took a seat.
“What are we doing here?” Drew asked.
“Grabbing something to drink,” I said. “And trying to figure out what in the hell we're doing.”
Drew shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. “And here I thought you had a plan.”
I smirked. “When have you ever known me to have a plan?”
Drew shrugged. “Fair point.”
The waitress came over and took our orders. I ordered a Coke and then added a club sandwich and fries. Drew looked at me questioningly.
“Hey, if we're going down in flames, I at least want a full belly when we go.”
He nodded. “I'll take the same,” he said to the waitress.
She left our table and a moment later brought back our drinks, setting them down in front of us. She wasn't a very friendly lady, didn't chat us up much, and barely even made eye contact. We were used to it, though. We were bikers and more or less looked the part. People were intimidated by us and usually crossed to the other side of the street when they saw us coming. It was stupid, really. We weren't the type to go beating on innocent people for no reason. But some stigma and stereotypes never washed away.
“I tried calling Dawkins a little earlier,” Drew said. “While you were in with Abbie.”
“And?”
He shook his head. “Couldn't reach him.”
I sighed and leaned back in the booth. “Yeah, I don't have a great feeling about this.”
Drew took a sip of his coke and fell silent. I could see his mind working, though. I knew he was turning something over in his head.
“What is it?” I asked.
He looked up at me. “Why would they snatch Dawkins?” he asked. “It doesn't make any sense. What's going on here, man?”
Drew didn't know about the heroin the Incas wanted us to start running for them. He hadn't been at the meeting where we talked about it – and rejected the idea. The club didn't approve it and I sure as hell wasn't going to approve it. Running pot was one thing. Running heroin was something else entirely – something I wasn't about to fuck around with. All I wanted to do was get those assholes to pay up what they owed us and then I never wanted to see any of them again. That money was my way out of this life.
After that meeting, we hadn't brought it up again. There didn't seem to be any need to. The club had a unanimous vote to reject the job. And because the idea died on the vine, when he'd gotten back into town, I hadn't thought to tell Drew about what El Segador wanted from us.
And now one of my guys was likely dead because of it. Whatever happened to Dawkins was on me. I'd underestimated the threat and felt like complete and utter shit about it. And it was why I was hesitant to give Drew all of the details now. But he deserved to know.
I sighed. “El Segador is trying to change the rules of the game.”
Drew cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
I took a sip of my Coke and still warred within myself about the best way to approach the subject. He wasn't going to like the fact that he was kept in the dark about it – unintentionally though it may have been.
“He's holding up our payment on the first deal,” I said, “because he wants us to do more work for him.”
“More work? What do you mean more work?” Drew asked slowly.
I looked around, making sure nobody was within earshot but still pitching my voice low anyway. “He wanted us to start running heroin for the Incas.”
“You're fuckin' kidding me?”
I shook my head. “Wish I was.”
The waitress picked that moment to stop by and drop off our sandwiches. Drew looked at his with an expression of distaste, like he'd lost his appetite.
“Eat,” I said. “You need food in your belly.”
We ate in silence for a few moments, Drew avoiding my eyes. He finally looked up at me and I could see the anger in his eyes, though he fought to restrain it.
“Why wasn't I told about this, man?” he asked, his voice low, cold. “I should have fuckin' been told about this.”
I nodded. “You're right and I'm sorry for that, bro,” I said. “It all came down when you were in Mexico. I took it to the club and it was a unanimous no. It was an absolute non-starter, and with everything else going on, I forgot to mention it to you when you got back. I'm sorry, man.”
Drew sighed and waved his hand. “Don't worry about it. I would have voted no, too. There's no way in hell I want to start messing with that shit. Especially not with those pricks.”
“Exactly,” I said.
He leaned back in his seat and pushed his mostly empty plate away from him. “And now, because we're not going to play ball, these assholes are snatching our guys and cutting their fuckin' hands off?”
I shook my head. “I honestly don't know what's going on right now.”
“If this shit turns out to be true, you know we have to retaliate,” Drew said.
“I don't want to start a war here, man.”
Drew shook his head. “If they killed Dawkins, we can't let that shit go unanswered. We just can't, man. You know that.”
Drew was usually the level-headed one. Roy was my right hand man, but Drew acted as the moral compass of the club. He kept things in perspective. Had a good head on his shoulders. And was the one man in the club I could count on to think things through before acting. Most of the guys had short fuses, but it was usually Drew who helped keep them all in check.
But he was fired up about this. And with him now starting to beat the war drum, I was even more concerned. If Dawkins was really dead, I had to take it to the club for a vote. And deep down, I really feared they would vote to go to war with the Incas. It was the last thing I wanted or needed. Hell, it was the last thing any of us wanted or needed.
I had to do whatever it took to avoid that scenario playing out.
“No, we can't let a challenge like that go unanswered. I agree,” I said. “But we need to think this through, man. We can't go off all half-cocked. If there is a war coming, we need to play it smart. We need to stake out the high ground and make them fight on our terms. The last thing I want is anybody else getting hurt. Or worse.”
Drew let out a breath, but nodded. “No, you're right. Let's just take this one step at a time.”
I nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he seemed mollified – for the moment. If we rolled into their clubhouse and found what I was fearing we'd find, I was worried that fire inside of Drew was going to explode, turning into an all consuming inferno – one that would spread to the entire club.
“One step at a time,” I agreed. “Let's get rolling.”
I threw some cash down on the table for the check and a generous tip. Walking back out into the heat of the day, we mounted our bikes and headed off into the unknown – and potentially deadly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
KING
About forty minutes later, we rolled into the parking lot of the Inca's clubhouse. Shutting off our bikes, I looked back at the big steel gates that had been left standing open and an ominous feeling settled down over my shoulders. Suppressing a shiver, I got off my bike and took off my helmet, putting it down on the seat. I looked over and saw Drew doing the same.
It was silent as the proverbial tomb in the parking lot. The building standing before us looked like it had once been a large, two stor
y home. But the paint was peeling, cardboard had been taped over some of the broken windows, and there were large holes in the stucco walls.
Empty beer cans and bottles had been discarded all over a yard that was mostly brown and dead – save for a few stands of weeds that were six feet high. Used tires and other trash littered the front of the house and the place just had the feeling of a derelict building. Or maybe, more accurately, a flophouse. It was like the sort of place where you could go to score a little smack or a ten-dollar blowjob – whatever your preference was at the time.
I had little doubt that if we walked inside, we'd find the floors littered with the bodies of squatters sleeping off their latest bender.
“This place is a fuckin' dump,” Drew remarked.
I nodded. Compared to our place, the Incas' clubhouse was an absolute pit. I'd demanded that our clubhouse be kept immaculate. The yards were well tended, the place got a fresh coat of paint once every couple of years, and everything was well maintained and in good working order. The last thing I wanted was for our crib to epitomize what most people thought of as the biker lifestyle. I wanted the Cossacks to have a better, cleaner image than all that.
And looking at the shithole the Incas called home, I knew I'd succeeded – in that endeavor, at least.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“Almost makes me appreciate the fact that you have us doing all of those fuckin' chores.”
“This is why I do it,” I said. “I think we need to take pride in – ”
“I said, almost,” Drew smirked.
I looked at the house and then looked around at the yard. The one thing noticeably absent was the bikes. There should have been some bikes in the yard. Instead, everything just looked so closed and sealed up. I scanned the windows of the house and though a few had remnants of tattered curtains hanging from them, some of them didn't. Yet, I didn't see any faces pressed to the glass, checking out who'd rolled up on their clubhouse. In fact, from where I was standing, I didn't see activity of any kind through the windows.
It was a terrible cliché, but it was quiet at the Incas compound. Too fuckin' quiet.
I looked over at him, my face growing increasingly grim. “Something's not right here.”
Drew nodded slowly, his face turning this way and that as he scanned the area around us. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Ambush?” I asked.
He shook his head. “If that were the case, they probably would have put a thousand bullets into us by now.”
“Yeah, probably,” I said, the tension in my body growing with each passing minute.
“But what is going on here?” Drew asked, his voice a hushed whisper.
“I wish I knew, man,” I said. “But this is creeping me the fuck out.”
“That makes two of us.”
Standing there, in the middle of the compound's parking lot, I felt more than a little exposed. The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I felt eyes on me. There may not have been an ambush in the offing, but I knew without the shadow of a doubt we were being watched. “You feel it?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the house.
“Feel what?”
“Eyes on us.”
Drew gave me a slight nod. “Thought I was just being paranoid.”
“I don't think so, man,” I said. “El Segador and his boys are watching us. I can feel it.”
“So why don't they just come out and take us head on, then?”
I turned in a slow circle and looked at the surrounding land. Lots of low hills and trees provided cover where the Incas could have been hiding and watching us. But what was their goddamn game here? “I don't know,” I said. “I don't see what their play here is.”
Drew looked around at the low hills and probably came to the same conclusion as I had – that they were out there, watching.
“Bunch of pussies!” he called out, his voice hot with anger.
I turned back to the house and suddenly knew what their play was. “They want us to go inside,” I said. “They want us to see something.”
“How do you know that?” Drew asked. “How do you know it's not like rigged to blow up or some shit like that?”
“If they wanted to kill us, they could have had somebody with a rifle and a scope up in those hills take us out,” I said. “And blowing our brains out wouldn't serve their purpose anyway. If we're dead, we can't work for them. No, this isn't about them killing us. This is about putting us in check. About them letting us know who the big dog is. I can feel it.”
Drew let out a shaky laugh. “You sure have all these hinky feelings about shit all of the sudden.”
I shrugged and gave him a lopsided smirk. “It's a gift.”
“Yeah well, that's a gift you might seriously want to think about returning.”
I sighed and looked around at the surrounding hills and forest one last time, wondering where in the hell those assholes were hiding. A dark shiver passed through my soul as I thought about what might be in that house waiting for us.
“Let's get this over with,” I said. “Let's go see what's inside and get the fuck out of here.”
“Or, we could just get the fuck out of here.”
The thought had crossed my mind, but I had a feeling that if we mounted our bikes without going inside, we just might catch a bullet from a hidden sniper out there. No, this was staged and set specifically for us and El Segador wasn't going to let us not see what his little gift he'd left for us.
“We need to go in there,” I said. “Dawkins might be in there and he might be hurt.”
“Dawkins is gone, man. They probably chopped his body up and fed him to their fuckin' dogs,” Drew said. “It kills me to say that, but it's the truth. Us going in there isn't going to change that.”
I knew he was probably right. The only way we were going to see Dawkins again was if the Incas sent us another love letter in the mail. But I had to be sure. Whatever happened to Dawkins was on me and I wasn't going to leave until I knew with absolute certainty that he wasn't in there, hurt and waiting for help. “Listen,” I said, “you don't need to go in there. You stay out here and make sure those assholes don't come down here and fuck with our bikes.”
Drew looked at me and then at the surrounding hills again. I could tell he was torn between wanting to go in and not wanting to. Drew wasn't a coward and never backed down from a fight. He was one of the toughest son of a bitches I knew. But there was something about that house that made him want to avoid it. Something was bothering him and he didn't want to go inside.
I understood the feeling – I didn't really want to go inside either, truth be told. But I was the leader of the Cossacks and it was my duty. “Seriously, man,” I said. “I'll only be a few minutes. Just hang out here. Keep an eye on shit.”
He looked at me and nodded, his face grim, but a look of gratitude filling his eyes. “You got it, boss.”
I looked around one last time and let out a breath. I didn't really want to go inside that house. I had an inkling of what I was going to find in there and, if I were being honest with myself, I really didn't want to see it. But it was my responsibility as the leader of our club and I had no real choice in the matter.
Walking away from Drew, I crossed the yard and soon found myself at the front door. Figuring this wasn't a situation that called on me to stand on ceremony, I reached out and turned the knob without knocking. Not surprisingly, it wasn't locked.
Letting the door swing inward, I crossed the threshold and immediately regretted it. The stench was overpowering. I hadn't been around many rotting corpses in my time – none really, to be honest – but I would have bet my life that the horrid odor filling the house was exactly that.
Putting a hand over my mouth, I continued farther into the house. It was dimly lit, gloomy even. And the interior was as dirty and trashed as the exterior. The fabric on the couches in the living room was covered in stains and tears. Empty beer bottles and cans littered the floors, and there were
holes in the walls all over the place. I had no doubt that once upon a time, this had been a fine home. A nice home. But once the Incas got hold of it, just like everything else they touched, it had turned to shit.
As I walked farther into the house, the stench got worse. When I turned into the kitchen, I found Dawkins and fought to keep myself from gagging. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself.
Dawkins had been propped up in a chair at a scarred and nicked wooden table. His head was thrown back, the expression on his face haunting, for it was one of terror and pain. He'd been cut up. Tortured. One of his eyes had been put out. His arms were on the table in front of him, but ended in stumps – his hands, of course, had been hacked off, boxed up, and sent to the cops. And there was blood everywhere. Pooled on the table, on the floor around his feet – there was so much splash and spray, it looked like the Incas had been throwing a painting party.
HANDS OFF MY WIFE_Black Cossacks MC Page 18
