by Nicole Snow
Her smile pulled tight across her lips. Was she really blushing from just my words after all that like an innocent school girl?
“I have to fly out to Seattle tomorrow, Dusty. Business meeting with my old mentor, Ty Sterner.”
I cocked my head and squinted. “You mean that rich kid who married his own sister?”
“Step-sister. He's more than just tabloid fodder, believe me,” she said, running her fingers slowly across my chest. My cock jerked, hornier than ever to be inside her. “You have your business. I have mine. Maybe we can have dinner and see what's next on the menu once I'm back in town.”
“Next? Babe, you're gonna have to beg for my tongue next time. Not to mention anything else.” Her eyes went wide, making me grin like mad. “Don't give me that look. You're the one who started it. Lucky you, I like being in control. Just as much as I like a challenge with the right woman.”
Her lips turned up in another smile, and then she sauntered past me like a cat who'd had her fill on milk. “I'm flattered that you think of me that way, Dusty. Truth be told, I'm too busy to settle down anytime soon. I'm just here to have some fun with you and...well, whoever else I choose.”
Whoa.
“Whoa!” I growled, stepping in front of her to block the door. “Easy, darlin'. You know exactly what I meant, and that's nothin' for us to laugh about. We're both gonna play it real cool, real casual, and that's where it ends. I'm gonna have to put a moratorium on playing heartbreaker here because I don't want Firefly breaking my nose when you run to him all disappointed.”
She grinned, a little too forced and bitter for my liking. “You think I want my brother worrying about me when he's playing family man? Come on, Dusty, I'm not helpless. I'm just jerking your chain.”
What-the-fuck ever, darlin'. Long as you jerk something else in the near future, I thought, my mind racing a hundred miles an hour.
The next growl leaving my lips was angrier. Made her feel it when we kissed one more time, my fist tugging at her hair, bringing her sweet mouth into mine.
“Goodnight, Hannah. You'll be seeing a whole lot more of me soon.”
“Oh, I hope.”
I backed off the door and watched her leave me with nothing more than another wink, plus the biggest blue balls in the entire world. Fuck.
I needed something to take the edge off. It was still a wedding party, after all, so I headed for the bar, grabbing the closest bottle of Jack I could find.
Didn't crack it open 'til after I rode my bike home. My place wasn't much to look at, just a functional little house on the edge of town, decorated with old Harley posters, Deadly Pistols patches in frames, and a few Civil War relics passed down from my great great grandpa.
I drank deep that night in bed, one hand on my dick. Sucked down a shot for every time she'd almost made me blow, setting me on fire like no woman had since...well, fuck, I couldn't remember.
It had been a long damned time. Almost as long as this club was weighed down with its woes, ever since my old man died and left me to clean up his wreck.
Woke up the next morning smelling heaven. Eggs...bacon...coffee?
What the fuck? I jerked up, shaking off my hangover, wondering who the hell was in my house cooking up a banquet.
I had one hand on the loaded nine I always kept next to me on my nightstand, ready to switch off the safety, when I heard her singing country to herself. Fuck, it was just Ma, sneaking in early for a breakfast. It had been awhile since the last time she'd done it.
Throwing my legs over the bed, I found a fresh shirt and rolled it on, getting into my jeans. I was still straightening my cut on my shoulders when I walked into the kitchen. Stainless steel caught my reflection, mirroring my patches from a dozen different angles.
Blood red, outlaw black, fiery yellow. Skulls and daggers and pistols everywhere. What I'd earned in sweat and blood, I wore proud, every day of my life I went out on the road or showed up at the businesses I owned.
“Mornin', Dusty,” Ma said, loading a plate of good food for me while I pulled up a chair at the counter. “You look like you just peeled yourself off the road. Too much fun at the wedding last night?”
“Something like that.” I shook my head.
Forty one years old, and I still took barbs from my mother. Sure as hell didn't mind her cooking for me, though. Woman had a knack for making awesome breakfasts, huge sandwiches, and the best damned stroganoff a man ever had out of thin air.
Ma sat down next to me with her plate and coffee cup while I dug into my food. “Cora looked so pretty yesterday, wearing my dress. I'm happy I could loan it to her,” she said.
“Yeah, it did the job. I'm sure she appreciated it, Ma. Lord knows she couldn't have rustled up anything better with Firefly on her ass to get hitched, soon as he found out about the kid.”
Ma looked me up and down, taking a long slurp off her coffee. I swear she had more energy than anybody wearing the patch, a scary spark for a gray haired lady pushing seventy, and still working at the hospital part time when she wasn't fixing up wounds for our boys, or bringing us biscuits and gravy on the weekends.
“Joker's gonna be next,” she said, smiling like she could see straight into the future. “I just have a gut feeling about that boy. He's hurt too much not to snatch up a good woman the minute she walks into his life.”
I swallowed my food and grunted. “Don't hold your breath too long, Ma. He doesn't care about anything except that damned dog and getting payback for Piece.”
She stared down at her plate, slowly taking a bite. “You'll be surprised. I think we'll all be real soon. Weddings in this club come fast, like lightning. It was the same for me and your father. Whatever else changes in this club, I don't think that ever will.”
I gave her a long, hard look. She talked about my old man too much for a woman whose marriage went to total shit during the last decade.
Somehow, she loved him through it all. She loved him through his boozing, his gambling, his women. Taking on too many debts and making too many enemies, all the bullshit we're still mopping up together as a crew.
“One thing's for sure – it'll be Joker before it's me,” I said, helping myself to some more bacon to go with my coffee. “Least we'll have a few kids hanging around the family get togethers soon, thanks to Meg and Cora. Only a matter of time before Skinny boy catches up to Firefly in the baby department.”
“Nope. You don't get off that easy, Daniel Grayson.” She wagged a finger at me and I stopped in mid-step.
Fuck, I hated it when she used my real name. 'Course, she was the only woman entitled to call me anything except Dust, seeing how she gave me birth. Still left a bad taste in my mouth.
I hadn't been called Daniel or Captain Grayson since my time in the Merchant Marines, helping protect America's trade ships from pirates in the Indian Ocean.
Yes, pirates. Merciless motherfuckers who'd hack heads off with dirty machetes, assuming they didn't get you with a rocket propelled grenade first, straight from their speedboats. Good, dangerous practice for coming home to Knoxville and taking over this club, dealing with the Deads, the Torches, and other mean sonsofbitches who had all the Somali pirates' greed and none of their restraint.
“You owe me at least one grandbaby sooner or later. The whole wife and family thing, well, that's your choice,” Ma snapped, draining the last dregs from her mug. “Look at this place!”
She turned on the stool, motioning toward the Civil War sword I had hanging on the mantle. “Do you really think Early would want his blood going to nothing? While you do – what, exactly? Get your hands dirty fixing cars and riding with the boys? Making money – for what?”
“We both know I don't give two shits about what dad would've wanted,” I growled. “Family didn't do him much good when he really went off the rails.”
Ma's coffee cup clanked down hard. Fuck, now I'd done it. She never cried openly anymore, but the hurt never died, all the pain he'd given her before he shuffled off his mortal coil.
“Aw, Ma, come on. I didn't mean it like that. You're like a mother to this whole club, you know, and a damned good one to me and everybody else. That's never gonna change.” Grabbing her hand, I gave it a squeeze, before heading for the coffee thermos on the counter to refresh her cup.
“Maybe I care about your future, Daniel. Just like I care about my poor dead husband's past.” She stood up, without bothering to finish her toast or the fresh coffee. “I have to get going. I'm going to be late for my shift.”
Part of me wanted to run after her. But I'd fucked up like this before, and this routine had gotten way too familiar.
“Let's do lunch. I'm taking my yearly trip down to Atlanta soon since everything's quiet up here.”
“Okay, fine. I'd like that,” she said quietly, halfway out the door. “Just get yourself there and back in one piece.”
The door slammed shut on her way out, leaving me alone on a beautiful morning. Wouldn't be the first time.
I knew how it went from here. I'd feel like shit the rest of the day, at least 'til I hit the road and fresh mountain air worked its balm. Eventually, Ma would lick her wounds and show up here again unannounced.
Sooner if, God forbid, something happened in the club warranting her medical talents.
I chugged the rest of my coffee and headed into the back for a quick shower before I hit the road. I'd be checking out the Ruby Heel, our new titty bar in town, managed by Meg and Cora.
The club was making more money these days by going clean, or close enough to it. Titty bars and chop shops for cars and bikes were a hell of a lot safer than the black market. If only the clean stuff made as much coin as going dirty.
Our growing gun trade was the ultimate dream. Carving ourselves a route from Knoxville to the sea, one worth gaining our club attention from the bigger clubs out West, the Devils and the Grizzlies MC. If we could get their greedy asses to trade with us and our friends on the coast, we'd be raking in so much money this club would never worry about the vault going empty again.
Just one problem: the Deadhands were still in the way. God willing, I'd hatch the perfect plan to wipe their asses out soon, and claim revenge for Joker and everybody else who'd ever been fucked by their sick club.
Work called, and she was a fuckin' slavedriver. I couldn't afford distractions like Ma's hurt feelings, or getting myself tangled up with any broad. Even if Hannah was a lot better than most.
I had a mission, staring me in the face every damned day I woke up. And when I sunk my teeth into a calling, I never, ever let go.
3
Rock and Hard Place (Hannah)
I told everyone I went to Seattle for business, but that was half the truth. It was several weeks after my brother's wedding, one more happiness cut short by looming hell.
They didn't know me. Not Huck, not Cora, not even Dust, who caused me to tingle every time I thought about the full body collision we had in his office.
They wouldn't believe the truth, even if I told them. I'd lived a lie so long I couldn't remember what honesty meant.
While they sang my praises, I kept that fake smile plastered to my face, showing the world the smart, sexy, highly successful woman they loved. Yeah, they were fucking clueless.
Truth was, everyone's favorite clean cut, bouncy, and brilliant entrepreneur of the year had her work cut out for her with secrets she could never tell. Dark secrets that would mean lost blood, not just lost money, if they ever spilled into the open.
So, I'd come to Seattle to face them again.
I sat in a back alley down by the bay, waiting for the scariest man in the world.
The stink of fish markets closing up for the evening wafted around me. A few couples strolled by, hand-in-hand, walking the main path by the docks while the sun slipped below the horizon.
The lucky ones. They didn't have a care in the world.
They didn't have to worry about a madman who might jab a knife in their spine if they said the wrong thing.
When my phone rang, I jumped, my hand shaking as I brought it to my ear. “Hello?”
“You're in the usual spot?”
“Yeah, I'm ready,” I said coldly, closing my eyes.
I'd lived what came next many times. My phone clicked dead a second later, and then the black sedan pulled up next to the alley, blocking any escape.
Doors opened. Two angry, stern looking men in suits and ties got out, combing the small space all around me.
“Stand up, doll. This'll only take a second.” I'd dealt with the one barking orders before. Tony, one of Dom's lackeys, a strong arm who always enjoyed groping me too much.
I stood up, wanting to get it over with. His hands roamed freely. They went up, down, behind my shirt, before he slipped to his knees to inspect me from the shoes up.
“No wires, no weapons. Bitch is clean,” he growled, speaking more loudly into the speaker clipped to his ear than the other goon leaning against the wall.
One more door to the car popped open. My eyes stayed closed for several more seconds, listening to his footsteps, wishing like hell I could just make it all disappear as easily as a bad dream.
“Hannah.”
As soon as the bastard said my name, I had to open my eyes and look at my tormenter. There he was.
Dominick Barone, or Dom, for short. A hired killer raised in the Sicilian Brotherhood, who'd infiltrated the multi-billion dollar Sterner empire of legit businesses where I'd interned. An utterly ruthless, heartless, savage son of a bitch who'd made me an offer too good to pass up.
I'd naively taken it. Too desperate, too hopeful, and too damned greedy for my own good.
“I don't know why we need to keep having these face-to-face meetings,” I said. “We could save ourselves some travel time and do it over the phone, or online. Ever tried Skype?”
Dom didn't look amused. He stared at me with his cold green eyes, his hair laid down like an oil slick, two jagged scars going up both his fifty year old cheeks. He'd gotten them in a brawl somewhere in Baltimore, back in the days when the mafias were limited to a few coastal cities.
Yes, I'd done my research. Learned everything I could about the monster at my throat, and I knew he was dangerous.
“No, peach. Travel has its charm. So does seeing you again,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to me. “You know how I feel about doing things in person, Hannah. Much less chance you ever fuck me over if you get any sick ideas in that pretty little head.”
He never looked at me. Not once.
Instead, as he always did, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his knife and a fruit I'd never be able to look at again without turning my stomach.
Pomegranate. Raw, angry, and always glowing blood red.
Using his wickedly sharp blade to pry it open, he dug in, catching the seeds in between his fingers and stuffing them into his mouth, one at a time.
“Tony, give her the damned file already,” he said, staring at a fresh red morsel in his fingers. “Look it over. You're gonna work everything in there into that goddamned app of yours. Another fake account for you to sync up. We'll transfer our cut straight to the shell business, the salons and pizzerias and shit, once you've coded it in. I'm making your job easy, peach, how 'bout a little gratitude?”
I said nothing. Tony stuffed a manila folder into my hands. I quickly opened it, looking through the documents, my heart twisting a little when I saw what they wanted.
They didn't understand software and builds like I did. They might as well have asked me to put a huge red flag on my dating app that said hello, FBI!
“Uh...you know this raises the risk of some nosy kid finding you out, right? It doesn't take much for anyone trying to duplicate my app to stumble onto the code you're requesting here. Trust me, there are a lot of copycats trying to be competitors these days.”
“Won't risk a damned thing,” Dom snapped. “See, that's where you snap your little fingers and pull another rabbit out of your sweet little ass. You've been smart en
ough to mask our shit up 'til now. Smart enough to make us a cool million in a week to pay back a little debt you owe from our seed money. You'll think of something brilliant, peach. Your magic works for both of us. Me and my boys will go ahead and make more money without Uncle Sam getting wise to it. And you'll get to keep that fancy fucking house, and inch forward, a little closer to the day when we won't have to do this no more.”
I still owed him three million. That day wouldn't come for at least another year or two, and only if the app kept making big money on paid subscriptions.
I'd seen new things flame out before. There were no guarantees in this business.
And if the Feds found out they were using me for money laundering, through an investigation or some kind of fluke...oh, God.
I'd end up on the wrong side of Dom's knife, or in a Federal jail cell for knowingly abetting a criminal scheme.
“Why you gotta look so sad? We've come a long, long way, haven't we, peach?”
I nodded glumly.
“That's right, so fuckin' far. I remember the night we met after Mister Sterner's company bash. You, fresh out of the slums with a fire in your belly and a little real world job experience in your cap. Me, schmoozing you like a friend of Sterner's, pretending to be your angel investor. You told me how bad you wanted to be the next whiz kid in tech, have your face on every blog and magazine. I said I could make that happen. Shit, when I tossed you the paperwork for the loan, and told you I might want to keep some shit off the record, I never saw anybody sign so fast. Normally, they ask a lot of questions, too, and I have to make up stories. But you, peach...you were good. You trusted me, blind as a fucking bat. You were hungry, Hannah...too damned greedy for your own good.”
My stomach knotted, making me want to throw up. I hated him for reminding me how I'd trusted him, ignored all the signs that the flash investment in my idea was too good to be true. He'd stalked me like a wolf, and I'd walked into his jaws.
