HANDS OFF MY WIFE_Black Cossacks MC

by Claire St. Rose

  I sprinted through the warehouse, running as fast as my legs would carry me. I risked a glance back and saw El Segador still where I'd left him, still occupied with the cops. It gave me the time I needed to duck into the office where Michelle was still tied up. When I came through the door, a look of relief spread across her face.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said quickly.

  When I reached her, I immediately started working on the knots that held her to the chair. The sound of the gunfire seemed to intensify and grow louder as I worked, making it even more difficult to get the knots undone with my trembling fingers.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I had Michelle freed from the chair. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me, embracing me tightly.

  “I was so scared,” she said.

  “I still am,” I said as I pulled myself out of her grip. “And will be until we're clear out of this warehouse. We have to go.”

  She nodded and took my hand as we exited the office. Movement to my left drew my attention and I felt my heart fall into my stomach when I saw El Segador – blood streaming down his face from where I'd broken his nose and blood streaming down his arm from a bullet wound – coming toward us. His face was a mask of rage and hatred. He raised his gun toward us and like a deer in the headlights; I froze.

  “Bitch. I'm going to kill you,” he screamed and squeezed the trigger.

  The clicking sound of his empty gun broke my fear-driven paralysis. I tugged on Michelle's hand and pulled her with me as we started to run.

  “We have to run, Michelle,” I yelled. “We have to get out of here.”

  She didn't say a word, but she ran every bit as hard as I was. She obviously wanted to get out of that warehouse every bit as much as I did. Risking a glance behind us, I was aghast to see El Segador giving chase. He wasn't holding his gun, but he was running hard – and closing the distance. If he caught us, it was going to be very, very bad.

  There was a door up ahead so I steered Michelle toward it. If we could just get outside, we could hide or run far enough that the cops would be able to get that asshole before he got to us. I could hear his footsteps pounding the pavement behind me, but I didn't want to look back again for fear of falling into another paralysis of fear.

  Putting my head down, I ran harder, encouraging Michelle to keep up. It seemed like it took forever, but we were finally at the door and then through it. After being in the murky warehouse for so long, the sudden burst of sunlight on my eyes was almost blinding. It took a moment to adjust, but I didn't have a moment to lose if we wanted to stay ahead of El Segador.

  Acting quickly, I turned and slammed the door shut behind us. I threw a trashcan in front of it knowing it wouldn't hold it shut, but it might be an unexpected obstacle that slowed him down. Then, instead of making a straight line run for it – we were never going to beat him in an open ground run – I pulled Michelle with me and ducked behind a dumpster

  We squatted down, our breathing ragged and labored. I looked over at her and held my finger to my lips, urging her to remain silent. A moment later, something heavy hit the door and we heard El Segador cursing in both English and Spanish as he tripped over the trashcan I'd thrown in front of it.

  “I'm going to kill you, puta!” he screamed.

  We crouched down and I risked a peek around the edge of the dumpster to see where he was and what he was doing. He was staring all around, trying to find us. Taking a couple steps toward the hill, he turned back around and looked at the door. He looked confused, perplexed, uncertain of how we'd disappeared. And then my heart sank when I saw a slow smile spread across his face.

  “I know you're hiding out here, puta,” he called. “I know you're still here and I'm gonna find you.”

  A small squeak escaped from Michelle's throat and I shot her a quick look, telling her with my eyes to keep silent. Glancing around the edge of the dumpster again, I saw El Segador looking behind and under crates and barrels as he searched for us.

  I had to come up with something, some other plan, because it was only going to be a matter of time before he found us. But then over the sound of the gunfire, the men shouting, and even the helicopter, I heard another noise – one that was music to my ears. It was the sound of motorcycle engines.

  I looked to the hill behind the warehouse and saw King and his men coming riding down. I don't know that I'd ever felt such a sense of relief before. Risking a quick glance around the dumpster at El Segador, I saw that he'd heard the bikes coming his way, too. With no gun in his hand or weapon at his disposal, I could see the look of concern on his face as King and his men approached.

  Feeling emboldened, I stood up to see him run back to the door we'd all just come out of. He yanked on the handle but it had locked behind us. He was stuck out there.

  “I told you King was coming for you,” I shouted. “Puta!”

  The look of rage that distorted his features was almost comical. He took a couple of steps toward me but thought better of it as King and his men closed in. El Segador turned and ran in the opposite direction, hoping to put some distance between him and the approaching bikes.

  But it was too late.

  I watched as King gunned his engine and caught up with the running man in no time flat. It was like something out of an action movie as King jumped off his bike and onto El Segador's back, both men going down and tumbling along the asphalt. I squatted down and looked Michelle in the eye.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” I said. “Help is here. Just stay right here for now. Don't move, okay?”

  She nodded at me with vacant eyes. It was probably going to take her a little time to get over the trauma of all this. I stood up and ran over to where King and El Segador had gotten to their feet and were fighting. King's men had formed a circle around the both of them, cutting off any avenue of escape the Incas leader may have had.

  King waded in and landed a hard punch that snapped El Segador's head backward. He followed that up by throwing a punch with his left hand. The Incas’ leader was ready, though, and caught the blow before it landed. He counterpunched and connected with the side of King's head, forcing him to stagger backwards a few steps, shaking his head.

  His men shouted encouragement and I stepped between a couple of the bikes, trying to get a better view. King's guys looked at me and nodded as I stepped into the circle and began shouting my own encouragement to – as El Segador put it – my man.

  Maybe it was seeing me there, rooting him on, or maybe it was something else. But King began to fight with a more frenetic, almost frantic energy. He threw punches left and right and followed up with devastating kicks to the torso. And though he took his fair share of blows, it was clear that El Segador was getting the worst of the beating.

  It seemed like it had gone on for hours when in reality, it had probably been merely minutes, when El Segador collapsed to the pavement, his face a bloody mess. King leaned over, his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped onto the pavement below him from a dozen different wounds, but when he looked up at me he smiled.

  “Bailing out like that wasn't cool,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No, it wasn't. But I had no choice.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  There was some grumbling from King's men that made me stand up and look. Two uniformed cops had made their way through the bikes and into the circle. One of them squatted down next to El Segador and checked him for a pulse.

  “He's beat to hell, but he's fine,” the cop pronounced as he took out a pair of handcuffs and hooked up the unconscious man before grabbing his radio and calling it in.

  The other cop stood before King and I and looked a little uncomfortable. I looked around at King's men who had all dismounted and were standing in front of their bikes looking like they were ready to fight and were just waiting for King to give the word.

  “I'm sorry, King,” the cop said. “Mahoney said I had to.”

  He nodded. �
�I know. It's okay, Miller.”

  “Wait, this isn't right,” I protested. “It was that asshole who kidnapped me and my friend. King is innocent.”

  The cop looked at me apologetically. “I'm sorry, ma'am,” he said gently. “I'm just following an order.”

  King looked at me and nodded. “It's okay, Abbie. I promise you.”

  King held his hands out in front of him and the cop gently placed a pair of handcuffs on him, making sure they weren't too tight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  KING

  I'd made a deal with the Devil and now it was time to pay up. But that part didn't matter. It was a minor inconvenience. Abbie was safe, the Incas were being wiped out – that was all that mattered to me.

  I looked around at my men and felt a spear of pride lance my heart. They'd trusted me. Believed in me. And though I was asking them to go against their very natures, they'd done it. They'd battled through their desire for vengeance and had trusted me. For that I was thankful.

  “You guys did good today,” I called to them. “I'm proud of you.”

  The men all nodded and though I know some of them would have preferred that we give the Incas a good old fashioned beatdown, I thought the sound of the hardware they'd broken out against the cops had given them all something to think about.

  The gun battle had been hellacious and sounded like something straight out of Iraq. It had become sporadic now, and seemed like the cops were simply doing mop up duty at the moment. I had no idea how many of the Incas had been killed or taken into custody. My hope was that they all died – and that El Segador would somehow die en route to the hospital, as well.

  But I knew I was never going to be that lucky.

  “I have to say,” Mahoney said as he stepped through the crowd and approached me, “I was skeptical about your intel when you called me.”

  Abbie looked at me, her eyes wide. “You called him?”

  I gave her a half grin and nodded before turning back to him. “I told you it was good,” I said. “I told you I was going to make your career.”

  He nodded. “You may have done that,” he said. “Illegal firearms, more than ten kilos of heroin, from what I saw – and, oh yeah, two abductions. Yeah, I think this is going to look real good on my record. But you know what the best part of this all is?”

  I already knew what he was going to say, but figured I'd give him his moment to revel anyway. “Golly no, Detective Mahoney. What is the best part of all this?”

  “That I finally get to haul your ass in.” There was a note of triumph in his voice.

  “You're fucking kidding me,” Abbie exploded. “If it weren't for King, Michelle and I would probably be dead!”

  Mahoney looked over at her as if noticing her for the first time and nodded. “Another way to look at it is if it hadn't been for King, you and Michelle never would have been abducted to begin with.”

  “That's bullshit and you know it!” she roared, sounding like a mama bear on the warpath. “And if not for King, you wouldn't get this big bust to put on your record either, you son of a bitch!”

  Mahoney shrugged. “No, probably not,” he said. “Truth be told, the Incas had never really been all that high on my hit list. On anybody's hit list, really. So this is going to be a major coup for me. I'm going to come out of this looking really, really good.”

  “Thanks to King,” Abbie snapped.

  “Abbie,” I said, “It's okay.”

  She shook her head. “No, it's not okay. It's bullshit. Plain and simple,” she was almost screaming. “you hand these assholes over on a silver platter and he turns around and busts you? Seriously?”

  “A deal is a deal,” Mahoney said. “And King made his deal.”

  She looked at me, eyes wide. “You what?”

  I looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “It's true,” I said. “I made a deal and now it's time to pay the check.”

  “But – ” she started.

  I shook my head. “Don't worry about a thing, sweetheart,” I said. “I'm not going to spend a day in jail. Wait and see.”

  “Yeah, we'll see about that,” Mahoney said.

  I laughed. “Just because I let you put these cuffs on me doesn't mean I'm guilty of anything,” I said. “You've got nothing on me. So yeah, let's see about that.”

  I turned and gave Abbie a wink as Mahoney put his hand on my back and shoved me forward. He pushed me along, forcing me to walk at his pace. I turned and blew a quick kiss to Abbie.

  “See you soon, Abbie,” I shouted.

  ***

  I sat at the same scarred, battered table in the interview room I'd been at a million times before. And just like all those other times, I knew I was going to be able to walk out of that a room a free man at some point.

  Mahoney sat on the other side of the table – and as he had a million times before – he glowered at me. Stared daggers at me. Tried to intimidate me. But I wasn't going to give in to it. I had nothing to say, so I leaned back in my seat, folded my arms over my chest, and contented myself with waiting him out.

  “You said you were going to confess to a crime,” Mahoney said, his voice low and full of irritation.

  I shook my head. “No, actually I didn't,” I replied. “I told you I would let you take me into custody.”

  “That's bullshit, King,” he snapped.

  “Is it?” I said. “We can get the recordings I made and see exactly what it was I said if you need to have your memory refreshed.”

  “Fuck you,” Mahoney snapped. “Why in the hell would you let me take you into custody if you had no intention of confessing to a crime?”

  “To expedite our arrangement,” I said. “An arrangement, by the way, that benefits you enormously.”

  “You owe me a confession.”

  I shrugged. “I owe you nothing. I just gave your career a big, fat boost, in fact,” I said. “But if you'd like, I can talk to your commander. Maybe he can make an impartial determination about what it was that I said.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  A rueful grin touched my face. “I don't see what the big problem here is, Mahoney,” I said. “You got a hell of a lot of heroin off the street – not to mention a shitload of illegal weapons. And you also get to lock up a lot of really, really bad people. From where I sit, that sounds like a win to me.”

  “Yeah, except for the fact that you're going back on your word now,” he said. “And not giving me a confession.”

  “I never promised you one.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  I shrugged. “Besides, I've got nothing to confess to.”

  Mahoney sighed. “Get up,” he said. “I'm taking you back to a cell. I can hold you for 72 hours before I have to charge you, so that's what I'm going to do.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Nothing better to do,” he said as he stood up. “Besides, I'm sure that between now and then, I can dig up something on you. Now, get the hell up.”

  I shrugged. It was an inconvenience, but was nothing more than that. I was sure they were going to kick me loose in the morning anyway. And ensuring that Abbie was safe was more than worth spending one night in a cell. I stood up and then cocked my head and looked at him.

  “You know, I never did get my phone call,” I said. “I think I'd like to make that call before I go back to a cell.”

  Mahoney looked at me, his expression of disdain and annoyance plain as day. Without a word, he led me out of the interview room and into another small room where a phone was station. He stood at the doorway looking all kinds of pissed and exuding an entirely hateful energy. Not that I cared.

  I picked up the phone, dialed the number, and held it to my ear.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Hey, it's me,” I said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face.

  “What are you doing? Are you out?” there was a note of hope in her voice.

  “Nope, still here,” I said. “Detective Maho
ney is going to extend the hospitality of the department for a little bit. But no worries, Ill be coming home soon.”

  “Good,” she said, sounding relieved. “Why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be calling a lawyer?”

  I laughed softly. “Don't need one because I didn't do anything,” I said. “I actually called to ask you a very important question.”

  “What kind of a question?”

  “An important one,” I said. “Are you ready?”