by Lilly Atlas
Really, the bar owner had no choice. What could one man do against five No Prisoners who needed private use of his bar? But they had a good relationship with him, and there wasn’t any point in fucking that up, so they paid him off.
Striker turned his attention back to the scarred wood table as Jackal, the Grimm’s president, slid into the booth opposite him and his president, Shiv. Striker didn’t recognize the man who took the seat next to Jackal. He wasn’t the Grimm’s vice president. The third man remained by the door, near Jester.
“Shiv, Striker.” Jackal nodded at them. This wasn’t the type of encounter where you shook hands and asked about each other’s families. They’d be civil for the sake of business and the preservation of both their clubs, but there was no love lost between the men.
“Where’s Snake?” Striker asked of the Grimm’s VP.
Something that looked a lot like fear clouded Jackal’s eyes. “He’s taking care of some other business.”
Striker didn’t buy it. Something wasn’t right, but it was too late to back out now.
“We need you out of Crystal Rock.” Shiv didn’t waste any time or breath on pleasantries. “I get that it’s a pain in the ass for you to transport your shit around our town, but it’s just too damn bad. It’s always been that way, and that’s the way it’s gotta stay to avoid bloodshed.”
Shiv paused, and Striker jumped in. “Cops in our town know we don’t deal in Smack or Molly or whatever shit you’re pushing these days. They’re getting wind of product coming through our town, and are starting to sniff around. We have a handle on them for the most part, but it’s only a matter of time before a do-gooder cop gets tired of it and calls in the Feds. We’re both fucked if that happens.
“You need to move your shit through Scorpions Trail like always and keep out of Crystal Rock. I know you don’t want a war any more than we do, and if the Feds show up, I promise we’ll steer them right to your door.” Scorpion’s Trail was a path through the mountains the Grimms had been using for years to transport drugs. It was difficult traveling, but the mountainous terrain kept them off the grid, and made it very difficult for the cops to set up a sting. The Grimms typically hired illegals to run the drugs from Mexico through the mountains with the promise of a place to stay.
In a surprisingly vulnerable move, Jackal ran his hands over his face. On closer inspection, the man looked weary and haggard. His long hair had grayed and deep wrinkles were set in his thin face. Jackal was only forty-seven, but he had the look of a man who’d lived his life hard and wild.
Jackal turned to the man on his left and jerked his head toward the door. The man stood and walked to stand by Jester and the other Grimm, near the door, leaving Jackal alone at the table with Shiv and Striker.
“I’m having some trouble with a few of my members,” he said while he stared at Shiv.
“Snake?” asked Striker.
Jackal gave one nod but didn’t elaborate.
Was he for real? Striker couldn’t believe what he was admitting to them. It was time for Jackal to stand down as president. Clearly he didn’t have control of his club anymore.
Shiv appeared just as unimpressed as Striker. “You need to handle your shit, Jackal. It’s not my problem that you can’t keep your little boys in line. Get your club under control. We’ve got plenty of contacts down in Mexico ourselves, wouldn’t take much to mess with your supply from that end. No more popping in our bars after a run, no more surprise visits to our hospital. Keep your men out of our territory. Stick to Scorpion’s Trail or I make some calls.”
That was the threat that would be most effective. The majority of the Grimm’s money came from running drugs. It was a bit of a stretch to let Jackal believe they could fuck up their supply with just a few phone calls, but it was true they had plenty of MC contacts down in Mexico, and with some effort could probably damage the Grimm’s imports.
Jackal nodded and stood. “Consider it done.” He motioned to his men and left the bar.
Shiv looked at Striker. “This shit stinks worse than a six-week-old wank sock.”
Striker grimaced at the image, and swallowed down the last of his whisky. “I hear you, Pres. There is definitely some shit in that cesspool. We did what we could for tonight. I think the threat of lost money will keep them in line.”
Striker wasn’t so sure he believed his own words. His gut wasn’t happy with this entire situation. “Jester,” he called out. “Let Black know we’re done and he can reopen.”
With a nod, Jester jogged to the back of the room and pounded on the office door. Black emerged a few seconds later.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate your flexibility,” Striker said as he handed him an envelope full of cash.
“No problem, Striker.”
Striker rose from his seat and stretched. He was relieved this meeting was over, even if he wasn’t thrilled with the outcome. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and glanced at the time. Almost nine. Lila should be done with her presentation to the school board by now. Two thoughts assaulted him at the same time. He hoped it went well and they approved her project. And why the fuck did he remember what time her presentation was?
Chapter Seven
Lila sighed as she bent down and tied her running shoes. Clearing her mind today would require an extra-long run. She was an avid runner, using the exercise to destress and process her thoughts.
It was Saturday morning, almost a week after the night that she now referred to as temporary insanity night in her head. Work had been busier than usual this week with multiple meetings and a higher than normal patient flow, leaving her little time to wrap her head around the events of the previous Sunday.
There hadn’t been any more strange text messages, and as the week went on, she became more confident it was an isolated incident. Someone who had seen Striker at her house and disapproved of their association, maybe a neighbor? Still, she kept her doors and windows locked at all times, and was a little jumpier than usual once night fell.
Lila caught sight of Striker’s sweatshirt lying on the top of a clothes pile on her bed. She hadn’t washed it, and had worn it every night. A huge part of her knew it was beyond stupid, but the smell of him wrapped around her as she drifted off to sleep was too enticing to pass up. She shook her head, frustrated with her inability to put the man out of her mind. Thoughts of him were dangerous and wouldn’t lead anywhere productive.
After a couple quick stretches, Lila chose the playlist on her phone that usually lasted long enough for her to complete a seven to eight mile run. As she jogged down her steps, an older model dirty green car captured her attention. It sat parked in front of her neighbor’s house, and Lila made a mental note to check in on the woman later. She was elderly, never left the house, and as far as Lila knew, hadn’t had any visitors since Lila moved in.
She enjoyed the push and pull of her laboring muscles until about three miles in, when she realized she wasn’t on her usual route. Unintentionally, she’d turned down the street where the No Prisoners’ clubhouse and auto garage were located. She’d never been inside the clubhouse, and hadn’t needed any work done on her car since she’d been living in Crystal Rock, so she’d never been on the premises.
That didn’t prevent her from knowing exactly where it was located, just a few blocks from the small downtown area of Crystal Rock. Everyone in town knew where the clubhouse was. It was a short street with no other businesses or houses on it, but it connected to another road with housing. Well, she was here. What could it hurt to take a little jog past and peek at the building?
Lila glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the quiet street and noticed a car slowly rolling down the road. It looked an awful lot like the car she’d seen parked in front of her neighbor’s. It was the same unattractive shade of murky green and the license plate was covered in mud and unreadable.
A nervous flutter in her stomach had her picking up the pace as she ran past the No Prisoners’ clubhouse, all thoughts of scopi
ng the place out gone from her mind. Was the driver following her or was she being paranoid?
She continued on, turning down a few random streets without a pattern. If the car stayed with her, it would be obvious that it was following her. None of the streets had sidewalks and Lila felt vulnerable and exposed. Every few seconds, she snuck a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the car remained with her for every turn. The driver maintained a fair distance, but didn’t really attempt to hide the fact that they were shadowing her.
The rush of Lila’s blood pounded in her ears, a combination of the exercise and mounting anxiety, and she found herself running at full speed. She forced her legs to slow down, and not give away the fact that she was aware she was being followed. She switched off the music to better listen for the car.
Suddenly the rumble of an engine grew louder, and she turned in time to see the car barreling down the street straight for her. It swerved at the last second, and shot down the block with the roar of its engine. Lila doubled over gasping for breath as she stared at the retreating taillights.
It had all happened in an instant; one second they were at the end of the road and in the next, the vehicle had been inches away from her. It was apparent the driver was intent on scaring her. Had they meant to hit her, they would have; she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
She glanced up from her stooped position, hands on her knees, and watched the car swing a U-turn at the end of the street. Fuck! That first drive-by had been a warning, but was the driver planning to play with her some more, or did they mean to hit her this time?
Lila spun around and sprinted, pushing her muscles to their maximum capacity. Her legs burned. She forced her muscles to near failure, and her heart slammed against her ribs as she hauled ass along the pavement. Dizziness swamped her, a combination of fear and hyperventilation. She was dying to know how close the car was, but refrained from peeking over her shoulder as fear of losing speed swamped her.
The clubhouse was within her sights, just around the upcoming corner. Would they help her if she could make it there before being mowed down? It was the only place she knew in this neighborhood, so she had to chance it. Just as she rounded the corner, the revving of an engine overshadowed the roar in her ears, and Lila prayed her legs would hold out until she got to the garage.
Striker’s thoughts were with the Grimm Brothers as he loosened the cable clutch on a bike and checked out the ball-and-cam gizzer. Sure enough, there was too much pressure, and it needed to be adjusted. Easy fix, and one Striker could do in his sleep, or while his mind was replaying the meeting with Jackal. Nearly a week later, he had an itch at the back of his neck that demanded its due.
He tightened the locknut and forced himself to think of anything else. The rest of the guys in the garage were conducting a post mortem of last night’s party. Striker went, and had two or three opportunities to take a warm and willing woman up to his room, but something had stopped him.
Who was he kidding? He knew exactly what had stopped him. For some screwed up reason, every time he thought of fucking a woman this past week, Lila’s face popped into his head. She starred in every fantasy he had while jerking off in the shower, and he felt like a teenager with too many hormones and nowhere to stick his dick.
“So, you see her?” Jester’s question knocked him out of his own head.
“See who?”
“That piece Acer snagged last night.” Jester put down the airbrush he’d been working with and spun on his stool.
“She was something,” Acer broke in with a grin. “My dick is actually sore today.”
“Not that we don’t all love hearing about your dick, but that bitch you went home with, that was Brandi, right?” Gumby’s voice floated up from under the hood of an old beater.
“Yeah, why? You hit that?” Acer asked.
“I think we’ve all hit that. Good lay, but she is one crazy-ass chick. Broke a mirror in my apartment when I told her to go before the sun came up. Jesus, this engine is practically held together with chewing gum and spit.” Gumby sounded disgusted.
Striker barked out a laugh. “Gumb, ever think it may just be you?” He knew Brandi. In fact, he’d been on that ride once himself, and while he enjoyed busting Gumby’s balls, the man had a point. That chick was bad news. She’d gone off on him as well when he’d moved on after one night of fun. If she kept that dramatic shit up, the club would have to run her ass off.
“Wait, why haven’t I seen her around? Shit, can’t believe I’m missing out on some prime pussy.” Jester looked around. “Everyone had a shot at her?” He turned and walked toward the exit of the garage bay muttering something about being left out of the pussy loop. Turning back toward the garage he announced, “I’m going to grab a beer. No one talk about any new broads while I’m gone. I can’t afford to miss out, I’ve got a rep to uphold.”
The men cracked up, and Jester took a few steps backward out of the garage flipping them the bird with both hands. As he watched, Striker caught sight of a woman sprinting full out, on a direct course for the garage. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder as Jester stepped out of the garage.
“Whoa there, darlin’.” Jester reached out a hand and steadied the woman who nearly collided with him at full speed. “Stitch?” he queried, his voice full of surprise.
Lila sank to her knees, hands splayed on the ground in front of her as she sucked in great gulps of air. “Car…followed…shit…need…air.” She was panting so hard she could barely form words.
“Hey, Doc, I’m not one to discourage a gorgeous woman on her knees at my feet, but you may want to tone it down a notch if you’re not gonna be able to stand at the end of your run. Hey, you okay?” His voice changed from teasing to concerned as Lila started to tremble at his feet.
Striker wiped his grease-stained hands on his jeans before he walked over and crouched down beside Lila, and placed a hand on her heaving back. Her head dropped forward, and sweat dripped from a long ponytail onto the ground as it dangled over her shoulder. Her entire body heaved, and she gulped in air. Jesus, was something seriously wrong with her? “Lila, what the hell is going on? What are you doing here?”
After a few moments, her breathing finally calmed enough for her to answer his question. She sat back on her heels, and scrubbed her hands over her sweat-dampened face. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here.” She paused to take a few breaths. “I was out for my morning run…and noticed a car…on my street.” Still winded, it took a while to get her point across. “After a few miles…I saw it again. Thought it might be tailing me.” She took three deep breaths in a row. It seemed to do the trick and she was able to continue. “I turned down a bunch of streets to see if I could lose it or if it really was following me, and it stayed with me until about three blocks that way.” She gestured with her hand, her breathing still audible. “Then it tried to run me down. I was close to here, and it’s the only place I know in this area, so I just ran as fast as possible until I got here.”
“Fuck! You sure it was gunning for you, and not just a shitty driver?” Striker asked, still on the ground with her.
“I’m sure. Like I said, he stayed with me despite multiple random turns.”
“Running, huh? No wonder your ass is so tight, Doc.” Jester bobbed his eyebrows at her.
Leave it to Jester to spew out a ridiculous comment at such an inappropriate time.
Lila burst out laughing. “Thanks, Jester, I needed that.”
“Hey, Striker.” Jester tilted his head toward the street where an old model green Buick with muddy plates was slowly rolling past.
“That the car, babe?”
Lila’s head popped up and her eyes went wide. “What? He’s here?” She scrambled to her feet like she was preparing to bolt.
“Gumby,” he called out. “Follow him. See where the fucker goes.” Gumby sprinted to his bike and shot off after the car that sped up after it passed the clubhouse.
Striker slid his hands up Lila’s arms to
her shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Hey, babe. Lila, look at me.”
She faced him, and the frightened look in her eyes caused an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness in Striker. He felt a gut-wrenching need to ensure her safety, similar to the night he shielded her from the Grimm Brothers. “There is no fuckin’ way he’d drive in here. Not unless he had a death wish.”
Jester raised a brow at Striker’s forcefully spoken words. Striker wasn’t usually one to rush to a woman’s defense, but the statement seemed to be what Lila needed to hear.
Striker watched her gather herself, take a deep breath and nod at him. It was then he noticed what she was wearing, or rather how little she was wearing. He trailed his eyes down her body, and dropped his hands from her damp shoulders, clenching them into fists at his sides. It was either that or reach out and palm her tight ass encased in tiny spandex shorts. On top she wore a neon yellow, stretchy tank top that ended just above her belly button, and left an expanse of creamy skin he wanted to lick. He forced himself to wrench his eyes back up to her face.
“Let’s go into the clubhouse and get you a drink. Anyone you know have it in for you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She shook her head as she answered, but a thoughtful look crossed her face.
Striker placed a hand on her lower back and steered her toward the clubhouse with Jester trailing behind. He enjoyed the feel of her satiny skin under his callused hands. Unable to stop himself, his thumb caressed a circle on her soft flesh, and he heard her emit a small gasp at the intimate contact. When they reached the heavy metal door, he held it open for her.
“Ladies first.”
Lila turned. “Jester.” She motioned him forward with a snarky grin.
Jester hooted out a laugh and slung an arm around Lila’s shoulders. The action pulled her away from Striker, and Jester propelled her through the door. “Girl, you are gonna be some trouble, aren’t you?”
