Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series

by Loren, Celia

  I close the door behind me to give Brette some privacy as I walk down the hallway and down the stairs. The bar is sparsely filled now with just some prospects, who aren't privy to all club business yet, and some sweet butts and other hangers-on. I walk to the back of the room and down another set of steps, these much more dimly lit.

  The metal door of the cave is slightly open, and as I step in I see that I'm the last brother to arrive. The cave is so called because it feels like one, the walls slightly curved as though the space has been carved out of the rock below the clubhouse. A fluorescent light hangs above the table and the back wall is covered in TV monitors that show the lounge, every entrance to the clubhouse, and the street outside. I shut the door behind me and take my seat at the table to Bark's right.

  Fish sits across from me, tapping his thumb on the edge of the table. I narrow my eyes as I examine his face. He looks even more strung out than usual.

  "You fucking tell it," Bark growls to Fish. I glance between them. Bark looks furious. Fish leans forward.

  "Ran into one of the brothers from the Death Dealers," he begins. Shit. We've had a fragile truce with the Death Dealers for a few months now. They're based a couple hundred miles away, and we agreed on new territories to end the war between us. No news about them is good news. But of course it would be Fish to bring news. "So we got into it, you know, he fucking insulted our brotherhood, he—"

  "Fish shot him, plus the clerk. At a gas station in Eatonville," Bark breaks in, cutting to the chase.

  "He was in our fucking territory and he attacked me first! I was defending myself!" Fish yells out as everyone begins to talk at once. Shit. Shit, this isn't good. Fucking psychopath. He's a good asset for the Hell Hounds at times, I can't deny it. Always willing to step up and do the dirty work. Problem is when there isn't any dirty work to be done, he creates it. Sometimes violence is necessary, and I don't shy away from using it when I have to, but Fish is the kind of guy who goes looking for it. Sometimes I wonder if it gives him a sick thrill.

  "Shut the fuck up!" Bark yells, and the brothers quiet.

  "No one saw me. No witnesses. They won't be able to tie it back to us," he says. I stare at his Adam's Apple as it bobs up and down with his throat tic. It's his only giveaway, the only sign that he feels any kind of normal human anxiety. On anyone else it wouldn't bother me, but on him, that clicking sound is like nails on a fucking chalkboard.

  "When was this?" I ask, making myself focus on his eyes.

  "No more than an hour ago," Fish answers shortly.

  "Rich knows," Bark adds. "Said he'll do his best to pull the investigation away from us." I nod. Rich is our contact on the force. He's a reliable guy, though the amount of violence between us and the Dealers has made him much more wary of working with us than he used to be.

  "See? It's gonna be fine," Fish says. "And I took the money from the register to make it look like a robbery." I wanna punch that bug-eyed shit in the mouth. He jeopardizes this deal and has the balls to sit here and act like he didn't fuck up?

  "Tapes?" I growl.

  "I said it's taken care of," Fish replies, staring me down. He's no fan of mine either. I'm one of the few brothers who won't back down from him. My brothers are the toughest guys I know, but even they're scared of Fish. He's too unpredictable. Plus, Bark has started to listen to me more than him. Drives him crazy.

  "You said you were just defending yourself, so let's see the proof," I say calmly. "Hell, if the Death Dealers are really coming into our territory and going after our brothers, maybe we need to rethink this truce."

  "You accusing me of being a liar?" Fish says, his eyes cold and defiant.

  "Do you have the tapes or not?" Bark interjects. Fish pauses, his eyes flashing angrily, then reaches underneath his seat and pulls out a DVD and places it on the table.

  "Pitt." Bark nods to him sitting at the far end of the table. Pitt stands up and walks toward the head of the table, picking up the DVD as he goes. He's our resident techie—I can't understand that shit for the life of me. He slips it into one of the players at the base of the screens and picks up a remote. One of the screens changes from a view of the lounge to grainy footage of the inside of a gas station shop.

  "You said an hour ago?" Pitt asks.

  "Yeah, maybe an hour ten," Fish replies. His voice sounds tense and his throat clicks again. I'd bet a million bucks he started the fight. Some of the brothers at the other end of the table stand up and walk forward to get a better view of the monitor as Pitt watches the time signature in the corner of the screen, rewinding through the last hour.

  Abruptly, the video stops as Pitt presses a button on the remote. The room quiets as we watch Angel Medina, a Death Dealers MC brother, walk into the store. At the bottom of the screen, the clerk leans forward for a second, into frame, then disappears again. The camera just captures the counter in front of him. A minute later, Fish enters. Everyone leans in. There's no sound, and the video quality is poor, so it's tough to even see if someone's mouth is moving. Suddenly, Fish lunges at Angel. Bark's head snaps toward Fish.

  "You couldn't hear what he was saying!" Fish cries defensively.

  "I don't give a fuck what he said," Bark growls.

  "Wait, what was that?" I ask, getting out of my seat and walking toward the monitor. Could've sworn I just saw movement at the back of the store. "Where's the clerk at this point?"

  "Behind the counter," Fish replies. I put my finger on the corner of the monitor, where an aisle in the store ends.

  "Something just moved here," I say. Fish snorts in disbelief. On the rest of the screen, we watch as Fish and Angel separates and Fish pulls his gun on Angel and the clerk. Angel falls first, then Fish points his gun at the clerk, who falls off camera. Then Fish makes a call and walks behind the counter to grab the tape and the money and the footage ends. "Wait, just go back to a few minutes before Angel enters."

  "Jesus fucking Christ," Fish swears. "I checked the place before I left."

  "Humor me," I say flatly, nodding to Pitt. He acquiesces, raising the remote and rewinding a few minutes.

  "Stop," I say. The monitor shows an empty store for a moment, then a woman with light hair walks in. She walks to the back of the store and disappears in the spot where I saw movement. Then Angel walks in. "She never fucking left. That woman was in there the whole time."

  Every brother in the room turns to stare at Fish. His face turns red with anger.

  "I'll take care of it," he whispers.

  "Fuck," Bark murmurs, rubbing his face. The brothers return to their seats in silence. An already bad problem just got a lot more complicated.

  "I'll take care of it," Fish repeats, a little louder.

  "You have already caused enough problems tonight," Bark hisses at him, then turns to the rest of the table. "I haven't heard anything from Rich about a witness yet. A seventy year-old man was the one who called the cops when he went to the store for some milk. That was half an hour ago."

  "So maybe she's not going to the cops. Scared, probably," Wilkes pipes up from down the table. He's a consistent voice of reason in the club.

  "You say Rich's name over the phone?" Bark asks Fish, his eyes narrowing.

  "No, definitely not…but I think I might've mentioned his being a cop."

  "See?" Wilkes says triumphantly.

  "Or maybe she's just giving it a night and waiting to go in the morning," Fingers replies in frustration. "What are we supposed to do about it, anyway?"

  "There's something on her shirt," Pitt says. He's staring at the screen, then presses a button on the remote that makes the video go in slow motion. Every head turns to the monitor. The woman is just walking through the front door. Pitt pauses it as it looks like she turns to say something to the clerk. He walks up until his nose is an inch from the glass. "Billy's…Billy's Bar and Grill," he reads.

  "I know that place," Wilkes says. "It's a local chain. Sort of like Chili's or something, but worse."

  "There one in Eato
nville?" I ask.

  "Think so," he replies.

  "So maybe she works there," Bark says.

  "I'll go there. Stake it out until I find her," Fish says.

  "And then what? Kill her too?" I ask him. "We don't even know if she can ID you."

  "Better safe than sorry," Fish answers, a cold smile spreading across his face.

  "The last thing I want to do is attract more attention to ourselves by killing some innocent woman. We've already got enough on our plate. We need to handle this quietly," Bark says decisively. "First we gotta find out what she knows, what she's planning on doing. Holt, you go. Just talk her up, see what you can find out."

  "What makes you think she's gonna tell me anything?"

  "I've seen women drop their panties at the sight of you, you fucking motherfucker. Just show her your dick!" Fingers yells from the other side of the room. Laughter breaks out.

  "Maybe with a little more subtlety, but do what you have to do. Win her trust," Bark says grimly.

  "And if she does know something? You really think he's got the stones to finish the job?" Fish sneers to Bark.

  The room quiets. I lean forward across the table. No one questions my readiness to act on behalf of the club.

  "She knows something, I kill her myself," I reply.

  Chapter Three

  Jo

  My body feels like a stiff board. I roll my ankles under the sheets, willing myself to get out of bed, but the world got a whole lot scarier last night. I just want to stay here, under my covers, and not move. At least I didn't dream. When I finally began to fall asleep, I kept starting awake because I was worried I would have nightmares, but I didn't. Maybe nothing could have been scarier than what I saw when I was awake.

  I glance at my clock. Almost two. I have to be at work in an hour. I sit up and walk naked into the bathroom. God, my hair looks like a rat's nest. I have to try to seem normal at work today. I pick up a brush and start working my way through the knots. I end up with waves that someone might mistake for being purposeful, and swipe on some makeup. I walk to my small closet and grab my black skirt and non-slip shoes for working behind the bar. I frown as I pull on my bra and underwear. What'd I do with my work shirt?

  Shit. I walk into the living room and look at the front door. The black trash bag is still sitting there, tied up with my clothes from last night in it. A shiver runs through me. No way I'm taking that shirt out of there. I'll have to get a new one at Billy's today, even though it'll come out of my paycheck.

  I pull on my skirt and a black tank top for now, then grab my purse. I stare down at the trash bag and reluctantly pick it up. Maybe it's silly to throw it out. It's not like there's actually anything wrong with the clothes now, but I know that every time I look at them I'd think of last night. I toss it over my shoulder and lock the door behind me.

  I walk behind the building and toss the bag into the dumpster, then head into the parking lot. My Corolla, which was my one concession in the divorce, is sitting out front. I slide in and take a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, I miss Steve. It would just be nice to have someone warm and familiar to curl myself around right now. I start the car, forcing myself to keep going.

  I glance nervously to the right as I pull out. The gas station has yellow tape marking it off, and there are two cop cars out front. I should have watched the news this morning, I realize.

  I slow down as I drive past. There are a couple non-police officers milling around out front, probably just curious citizens. Should I go ask what's going on? No, that would be reckless, like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, even though I'm not the criminal. Wait…would I be guilty of something for not going to the police? Like obstruction or something? Tears form behind my eyes as I pull up to the next stoplight. Fuck, I'm clueless. My mom would know about this kind of stuff, but of course I can't ask her.

  I drive the last several miles to Billy's struggling to pull it together, and park in an employee spot. I pull the rearview mirror toward me, giving myself one last check, then step out of the car and head inside.

  The lunch crowd has already cleared out, and the happy hour people aren’t here yet, so the place is pretty empty. I see Frankie behind the bar restocking glasses, and I wave to him as I walk back to the kitchen. The line cooks are all laughing about something, so I slip unnoticed into the manager's office.

  "Hey, Carl," I greet him. I make sure not to smile at him. I think Carl hired me thinking he'd be able to sleep with me, so I make it a point to actively discourage him from that notion.

  "Jo…" he says, swiveling around in his chair and looking me up and down. Amazing. Not even trying to hide it. I am so not in the mood for this.

  "I need to get another shirt."

  He clicks his tongue at me like I'm an errant child. "You know that comes out of your paycheck, right? I guess for you, I could just—"

  "That's OK, I'll pay for it," I jump in. Like I'd ever want to owe you one.

  "Hey, whatever you want," he says with a shrug, reaching to the shelf behind him where he keeps the extra shirts. "What are you, a small?" he asks, using the question as another opportunity to ogle my breasts.

  "Yup, a small," I reply, struggling to keep the impatience out of my voice. He hands the shirt to me and opens his mouth to say something else, but I grab the shirt. "Thanks!" I say, turning quickly out of the room and heading to the hallway. I stash my purse in a locker and pull the shirt on over my tank top.

  Frankie greets me with a smile as I walk back out of the kitchen and join him behind the bar. He's one of the only bright spots of working here. Billy's is his second job, on top of a gig working mall security in another town. He's got a wife he adores and a young son to support.

  "Hey, you feel OK about closing up tonight?" he asks kindly, his brow furrowing over his glasses.

  "Yeah, sure, why?"

  "Because of the robbery." I look at him in confusion. "You didn't hear? The gas station on Laurel was robbed, two people shot."

  I freeze. A robbery? Definitely not.

  "Yeah? They catch the guy? Have any suspects or anything?"

  "Mmm, I just caught the news this morning, but I don't think they do yet. If there's another robbery in the area, I don't think you should be closing."

  "It's OK, Frankie. There's always a couple guys from the kitchen left and a server or two." Plus, it wasn't a robbery. I might not have seen the gunman, but he wasn't there for money. Sounded more like he had some old argument with the Hispanic guy, and they just happened to run into each other.

  "Alright, if you're sure. I just doubt they're going to catch the guys because there wasn't a tape."

  "A tape?"

  "Yeah, there wasn't a tape in the security camera. Either the thieves stole it, or there wasn't one in there in the first place. Too bad. You have to be a really sick person to kill two people just for some cash."

  A security camera. If the gunman took it, he'll see me on there. Wearing my work t-shirt. I honestly didn't think this could get any worse, but I was wrong.

  Chapter Four

  Holt

  I study the picture that Pitt printed out for me. It's black and white and unfocused, but I can just make out the woman's features. She looks pretty cute, actually. I memorize her face and then fold up the photo and tuck it into the glove compartment.

  I came out to Eatonville a little earlier tonight in my pickup. Bark told me to leave all evidence that I'm in an MC behind, in case that would make the girl suspicious of me. I open the car door and step out into the parking lot of Billy's Bar and Grill. I survey the brightly lit, family friendly sign. Fuck. This does not look like the kind of place I'd normally be caught dead in. Well, at least I put on a clean shirt.

  I walk slowly to the front door, still unsure of exactly what I'm going to do. As I step inside, a young hostess smiles up at me. She's wearing the same white t-shirt with curly writing that the woman in the photo had on, but it's definitely not her.

  "Hi
, welcome to Billy's Bar and Grill," she says brightly, a blush spreading across her face as I smile at her. Good to know I still have that effect without my cut.

  "Hey, darlin'," I murmur. She self-consciously toys with the ends of her hair.

  "Um, so just you, then? Anyone joining you?"

  "Just me."

  "Would you like a table? Or a seat at the bar, maybe?"

  "I'll take the bar." She turns to lead me over. "Hey, this may sound like a strange question, but I've got a friend who loves this place. That shirt you're wearing—can I buy one here for her?"

  "Oh, no, sorry, they're only for staff."

  "Too bad," I smile, walking behind her to the bar. Well, that's a positive sign, at least. The woman probably worked here at some point, if she doesn't still. Maybe if I don't see her I could show someone her picture…that would look pretty suspicious, though. The hostess leads me to the bar and hands me a thick, laminated menu.

  "Just in case you want to order food. Please let me know if you need anything else," she adds with a smile. I watch her walk away, knowing she's probably already willing to go home with me tonight. But that's not what I'm here for. I glance around the rest of the restaurant. It's pretty busy. Families, people drinking after work, some couples. I check out each server as they walk around, but none looks familiar. The bartender at my end is busy with a set of indecisive customers, so I glance toward the other side and see a flash of blonde hair bending over in a short skirt.

  Damn. I haven't seen an ass like that in a while, and I'm surrounded by plenty of excellent examples. She straightens up, and my stomach tenses. It's the girl in the picture. Except the picture didn't do her justice. Nothing close to the real thing. I take my menu and slip off my stool and walk to her end of the bar as innocuously as I can; I don't think the other bartender spotted me in his section yet.

  I slide onto an empty stool nearer to her and open my menu, studying her out of the corner of my eye. Shit, she's gorgeous. Her face is much more delicate than it looked in the freeze frame from the video. Large brown eyes, small nose, soft pink lips, and long blonde hair. She actually looks out of place in a restaurant like this because there's something so classical about her beauty. I shift in my seat. Her looks should just make my reconnaissance mission more fun, but for some reason it's making me uncomfortable.