Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1)

by Christine Feehan

  “Tom. Tom Randal. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Do you dance?”

  “Slow.”

  She stood up, very close to him. Reaper knew how heady men found her. She smiled, staring straight into his eyes. “Tom, I believe the music is just slow enough.” She put her hand in his.

  Tom walked her to the dance floor, and she turned immediately and put both arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against his. He locked his arms around her waist, and they began to sway together. She’d made certain to lead him close to the edge of the low stage. It was no more than a step. The way their bodies were locked together, Reaper knew Alena could feel every bulge in Tom’s pockets. She knew exactly where his wallet was.

  Reaper kept his eyes on her. So did Master. He played bass and every now and then dropped to a slight crouch while he played one-handed to fiddle with his amp—the amplifier positioned right on the corner. Alena’s hand swept down Tom’s body in a little caress as she turned her face up to his and talked softly, intimately to him, creating a spell with her voice. Reeling him in. Her fingers found his wallet and she handed off to Master easily. He beckoned to Mechanic, who crouched, came to the corner of the stage to fiddle with the amp, took the wallet with a sleight of hand and disappeared.

  It was smooth. Practiced. They’d done it hundreds of times. The wallet went to Code, the ID copied, put back and returned to Master in minutes. Alena laughed at something Tom said, and Master slipped it back into her hand. She went up on her toes and whispered, her lips against Tom’s ear, her fingers slipping in a caress down his back and over his hip, the wallet smoothly sliding back into his pocket.

  Alena had indicated twice that Tom was asking about the club. Or at least the president of the club. She’d delivered the information via code, tapping that rhythm right on Tom’s shoulder blatantly.

  Tom looked like he’d been lovestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off Alena. He walked her back to the table when the band went into something energetic, keeping possession of her hand as they neared her table. “Come sit with us.”

  She nodded immediately. “Storm’s always late.”

  “Storm?” Tom echoed.

  “My brother. He’s got a temper and can create quite the storm when’s he angry.” She gave a small laugh. “Introduce me to your friends.” Her voice had dropped an octave, throwing the lure that often got her exactly what she wanted.

  “Steve and Mike Burrows,” Tom said. “Alena.”

  “Are you just passing through?” she asked as she slid gracefully into a chair.

  “Staying for a few days,” Steve answered. “We like sea fishing and come to Fort Bragg occasionally to fish. This is our first time in the bar. Someone told us to come on Thursday nights to hear the band.”

  “They’re good, aren’t they?” Alena said. She moved, a slow subtle undulation of her body that kept their eyes riveted to her. All the while she tapped her fingers to the beat of the music, giving the other two names to Code through the camera.

  “I can’t believe they play in a small bar like this. They could be quite a draw if they had a little publicity,” Mike pointed out.

  “They don’t play on a regular basis,” Alena said, leaning her chin into the heel of her hand, staring into Tom’s eyes. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

  “A few more days,” Tom said hastily.

  “Who owns the bar?” Steve looked around carefully. “It’s unexpected. I was told it was a biker bar. I thought fights and broken glass.”

  “Torpedo Ink club owns it. My brother’s Torpedo Ink.”

  “Is he the president?” Mike asked.

  She shook her head. Reaper saw her sign immediately. She didn’t like the way the conversation was headed. She ran her fingers through her hair—Storm’s sign to get out there. Her brother strode into the bar within minutes, coming in through the front. He was wearing his colors, just as Reaper and the band members were.

  Alena stood up instantly with a smile. “I’d better go,” she whispered, almost as if she was afraid of what her brother might do to her—or to them—if he caught her sitting with them. Before Tom or the others could protest, she hurried straight to Storm. He caught her arm and dragged her out the front door.

  Reaper gave Fatei a thumbs-up to indicate that he should let Betina know the coast was clear and she could get back inside. They’d all done their jobs. They were skilled at working together, one smooth, oiled machine. He glanced up to see Anya’s gaze touch the three men, speculation in her eyes. She looked away quickly.

  He had a sudden feeling of unease. His woman was intelligent. She noticed things and had a great memory. She remembered the name of every single customer, family members and even friends. She remembered the drinks they liked. Any bit of overheard conversation and eventually she would be able to put pieces of puzzles together. He’d have to caution the others to be careful around her.

  The last thing he wanted was for Anya to know about any of the work they did. She had to know he wasn’t a good man, she’d seen the knife he’d thrown at Deke, but she didn’t know that they’d been assassins for their government and that they hunted pedophiles, or took jobs as couriers to escort people safely through gauntlets.

  He had kissed her in front of the three strangers, men asking questions about their club, about their president. He had kissed her to stake his claim in front of everyone, but it had been a selfish gesture. He would have done better to ignore her. She would have followed his cue. She was always professional at work, and she was still unsure of the status of their relationship.

  He stood up slowly, for the first time drawing attention to himself. Even in the bar, with Betina bringing him coffee and Anya kissing him, he knew he went still after as he always did, and that allowed him to become somewhat invisible. He was noticed only when he wanted to be. Stalking across the bar, he went down the hall rather than going behind the bar to access the meeting room. Maestro, Player, Keys and Master put their instruments aside and used the hinged slab at the bar to retreat toward the back room.

  In the mirror above his head, Reaper noticed the three strangers going on alert. He nodded to Fatei to watch them. Gavriil and Casimir Prakenskii, two of Czar’s brothers, stepped into the hall to guard the door while the club members went inside. Gavriil, Reaper had come to know over the last year, and he was every bit the badass Czar had warned them he was.

  Casimir had earned the club’s respect because he had been the one, along with his wife, to free them all from Sorbacov and his murderous son. The couple had killed the two Sorbacovs, allowing those left alive from the four schools to live in the open. Both men had been patched in. As the newest members, they still pulled guard duty quite often.

  Reaper moved to the back of the room while Savage took the front. The rest of the club members, Alena and Lana included, gathered around the large table. “First, before anything else, Code, what did you find out about the Ghost Club?” Czar asked.

  “We stumbled into a nest of vipers, Czar. Pure and simple. They’ve targeted the clubs, all of them, large and small. They have quite the racket going. We got close enough to hear that they want the Diamondbacks and expect to get them soon. Some prick, and I haven’t gotten his name yet, but I will, is selling out his club, setting up the president of the Mendocino chapter’s wife in exchange for his debt. They think they’ve gotten big enough to take the Diamondbacks on starting with the Mendocino chapter.”

  Czar shook his head. “Are they crazy? The Diamondbacks will eat them alive.”

  “The Ghosts are bigger than I first thought. They’ve got members in various states and no one knows who they are.”

  “Someone has to know.”

  “Their computers are like a fortress. Better than the government’s, Czar. It took both Cat and I to figure out how to break through their firewall. I’m searching the servers now and will have the data to you soon,” Code said.

  Reaper was always impressed with the things Code did
with computers.

  “I did get into their emails. They use a code that was easy to break, unlike their firewall. There was quite a buzz around the fact that three of their men were killed in a botched raid on the president of Mayhem’s wife.” He sent a quick appreciative grin to Reaper.

  Steele nodded. “We heard the same thing. They think members of Mayhem saved the president’s wife and daughter. As far as we could tell from the conversation, we’re not on their radar. At least not as someone that interfered with their scheme.”

  “How’d you get so close?” Preacher asked.

  “Master gave us some good audio surveillance equipment and we picked up conversations the Ghosts held in their basement offices. The casino’s down there and below that are the offices. They also have an escape tunnel below the Ghost Club.”

  “Nice, Master.” Preacher smirked at him. “Knew your gadgets would come in useful.”

  Master flipped him off. He loved anything electrical. Mechanic and Master spent hours working on new equipment, trying to make each device smaller and smaller.

  “Hammer’s woman?” Czar got to the point.

  The smiles faded from Steele and the others. “She’s there. They’ve got her underground, down near the tunnel. It didn’t sound good, Czar. I think it’s best we get her out of there as soon as possible.”

  “Can we get a hold of the blueprints for the club, casino and offices?” Czar asked.

  “Absinthe went to the city planning office to take a look. Nothing but the club itself. Whatever original plans were there, aren’t any longer,” Steele said.

  Czar sighed. “It’s damned hard to go in blind.”

  “Another thing that’s important to know,” Absinthe said, “the Ghost Club only hires bartenders who know flair. They have to be good. Really good.”

  Reaper stiffened. Alena and Lana had told them all that Anya knew how to do tricks, that she’d used that knowledge to work her way up through the clubs to better pay. No one looked at him, but he felt the tension in the room mounting.

  “Did anyone think to find out the wages a bartender gets at the Ghost Club?” Czar asked quietly.

  “It’s one of the highest paying in the city,” Steele acknowledged. “We didn’t ask if they were missing a bartender, but …”

  “Don’t.” Reaper’s fist hit the wall. “Don’t go there.”

  Czar sighed. “We have to go there, Reaper. You know that. We can’t discount any possibility. We look at everything no matter how remote. It’s a big coincidence that Anya showed up here with no money but wearing designer jeans. She gets paid under the table, the perfect damsel in distress. She’s also gorgeous, has tons of experience and is guaranteed to bring in more customers. Of course we’d hire her, we’d be fools not to. We have to look at the possibility that they’re putting bartenders in biker bars to gather information on club members. It would be a brilliant move.”

  The pressure in Reaper’s chest was suddenly enormous. His heart ached. Anya—a spy? She had a memory. She put things together fast. He’d just been thinking that.

  Czar looked straight at him. “A bartender hears everyone’s woes. If they’re gamblers, she’s going to know.”

  Reaper shook his head. “This is fucked-up.”

  “We’re just talking about possibilities.”

  “No, you’re not. You know damn well you think it’s a reality.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Czar said, “but it warrants investigation.”

  “You fucking mean interrogation.” Reaper straightened, turning his gaze on Absinthe. “You go near her and I’ll kill you. Do you get that, brother? I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “I’m not interrogating her,” Absinthe said. “I won’t do it, and not because you’re threatening me, you dumb fuck. I like her. She’s a good person. I don’t believe she’s part of this crap going on. She isn’t the type of woman to let someone harm other women.”

  “Reaper”—Czar’s voice was mild—“shut the fuck up and rein it in. I say what we do, not Absinthe. I tell him to question her, he does it.” He didn’t look at Absinthe. “That’s the way we work. We’re a team, and you both are part of that team. Reaper, you aren’t even with her yet and you’re ready to turn on your brothers? That’s not happening. God. I don’t need bullshit when we have a real problem.”

  Reaper took a deep breath. He detested that Czar was right. Why had his first thought been to protect Anya and not his club? Not his brothers? That was unprecedented. He was losing his fucking mind over the woman. First his dick, now his brothers. He was losing control. Maybe she was a plant; if so, he’d kill her himself. His stomach lurched and his heart jerked hard. Painfully. “Consider it reined in.”

  Czar nodded. “No one in our club has a gambling problem,” he said. “Even if she was here to spy, she wouldn’t have much to tell them.”

  “She went to your home, Czar,” Master pointed out. “She met Blythe and Emily. She saw the way you are with them. The way all of us are with them.”

  “Actually, Czar, she’s never asked a single question about any of us,” Preacher said. “I work with her all the time.”

  Reaper sighed. These were his brothers and sisters. “No, but she’s highly intelligent. She puts things together fast.” He felt he had to at least admit that.

  “Maybe,” Lana said. “But I watched her at Czar’s house. She wasn’t pumping for information. She wasn’t looking for it. She was all about Reaper and very nervous around us. I believe she’s running from something, but I don’t think she’s spying on us. If she were, why wouldn’t she have asked to stay in the compound instead of camping out in her car? There are apartments over the bar. She didn’t ask to stay in them either. Those would be opportunities for a spy.”

  Reaper shot her a grateful glance.

  Czar sank back in his chair for a long moment weighing the consequences, the damage Anya could do if she were a spy and then he hit the table with his fist. “Damn it. Just damn it.”

  Reaper’s heart sank. Either way he was going to lose Anya. If they didn’t question her, there would always be club members, even him, looking at her as if she might be a spy. If they did, she wouldn’t forgive him, and he wouldn’t blame her. He knew they had to question her. It didn’t make sense not to. There was too much at stake.

  “When?”

  “After her shift tonight. We may as well get it over, Reaper.” Czar sounded tired. He looked at his oldest friend, the man they all owed their lives to. He had sacrificed his soul, his sanity for them and now they were repaying him by accusing his woman of being a spy.

  The air was heavy in the room. They all felt it. Every last one of them. Reaper pushed away from the wall.

  “I’ll be back. No one touch her until I get here,” he decreed.

  “Reaper …” Czar began.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it. Maybe it hadn’t been redemption that had been close, he knew there was no such thing for him, but Anya had felt like that. He’d sacrificed everything he was, everything he could have been to give his brothers and sisters a chance at a life, Anya had been his reward for that. His one chance. He would have nothing after this, and he wasn’t the only one who knew it.

  He didn’t look at them. In that moment, he detested all of them. He detested the unbreakable bonds he had with them. Ties that had been forged in hell. He went out the back door so he wouldn’t have to face her. He didn’t want to see her, to have her look at him with those green eyes and that smile that took his breath and sanity. He’d go to hell for her, but he couldn’t stop what was coming.

  Reaper went straight for his bike. He needed the wind. It wouldn’t cleanse him of his sins, and it wouldn’t stop what was coming, but he had to get his mind right because if, when she was questioned, he thought she was innocent, he’d stop the interrogation immediately. If he didn’t, and she was the enemy, her death was going to be quick and clean and she’d never see it coming.

  His vision blurred and he stum
bled. He caught himself and kept walking until he was at his bike. Ice closed in on one side. Storm on the other. He didn’t look at them, but he shook his head. There was a lump in his throat so large he could barely draw breath, and it burned like hell behind his eyes.

  “Need to be alone.”

  “Not happening, brother,” Ice said softly. “We’re going with you.” He straddled his bike. Storm did the same.

  Behind him, bike after bike started up. His brothers, surrounding him. He still couldn’t look at them. He pulled on his gloves, his dome, sank onto the familiar leather and backed his bike out. They were all there in force, Czar included.

  Reaper roared out of the parking lot, uncaring of speed limits, reckless when water shimmered in his eyes making it difficult to see. He flew down the highway, taking the curves fast, trying to run from himself. His life. The betrayal he knew he was about to visit on Anya. He believed her innocent, but the fact was, there was damning evidence against her. The timing couldn’t have been worse for her to show up at their bar.

  Her laughter echoed through his mind and he turned up his speed another notch, trying to outrun that as well. She’d taken hold of him, gotten inside, and twice he’d fucked her hard, without any tenderness, and he’d left her alone. He’d written his name on her and asked her to wear it. He had the feeling she had done that for him. He’d taken from her over and over, giving her nothing back and now, fucking hell, he was about to destroy her.

  Anya was more fragile than he wanted to admit. He saw it sometimes in her eyes, that vulnerability that told him she hadn’t had it easy. Maybe her life hadn’t been like his, or that of any of the members of the club, but she hadn’t had it easy. He hadn’t even asked her about her life. He’d been too busy feeling. Acting on those feelings.

  He headed to the point above the ocean where he often went just to look at that wide expanse of water. He stopped, uncaring that bikes pulled in behind him at his back. He couldn’t look at them without wanting to … He shut down that line of thinking. Fighting anyone was out of the question, and it wouldn’t change the fact that he would have to be the one to betray Anya. Or kill her if necessary, because that was always on him. In the end, that was all he was.