by Nicole James
Joker met his eyes. “Ugly is what we do, isn’t it?”
Blood grinned. “I’ll take the back. With any luck, it’s unlocked; if not, I’ll boot it.”
Turning, they heard the unmistakable sound of Harleys coming up the street.
Cat twisted in the backseat and peered out the rear window.
The rumble shook the summer night, reverberating off the metal trailers.
Blood frowned and met Joker’s eyes as they both listened to the approaching motorcycles, the engines, the pipes, and the way the riders geared down as they slowed. The bikes turned in the parking lot of the liquor store across the street. Joker counted eight of them. The lights in the parking lot revealed they wore Death Heads patches. Six with Texas rockers, two with New Mexico rockers.
They swarmed the place like they owned it. A few minutes later, the bikes shut off, boots clomped up the steps, and voices drifted into the store. It was eerily quiet again, until a trailer two doors down blasted music on, and Creedence Clearwater Revival told them they better run through the jungle.
“Fucking hell,” Joker murmured, looking at all those bikes parked in a line. “What do we do?”
“It’s dark over here; they won’t see us. We stay calm and wait ‘em out. They’ll buy what they came to buy and split soon enough,” Blood replied.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I hope I’m right, too. Always the chance they may hang in the parking lot.”
Joker’s eyes strayed to the trailer where he hoped he’d find Holly. The windows were covered with curtains, and he couldn’t spot any movement.
For a tense quarter hour, they waited, until finally the horde came out, fired up their bikes, and roared away into the night.
Joker had a gut feeling that the Death Heads had not suddenly decided to go home for the evening. But with the amount of liquor they’d rolled off the lot with, he could only hope there was a big party somewhere.
Blood ducked his head and looked at Cat. “You got a spare set of keys to the car you lent Holly?”
Cat nodded.
“Go get in and move it toward the entrance. Anyone comes out of the trailer, including your sister, you don’t stop, understand?”
“But Blood, I—”
“If there’s trouble, we may not have another chance to get the car. Let’s take it now, get it out of the way. Joker and I will deal with getting Holly out of that trailer.”
“All right.”
“You ready?” Blood met his eyes across the roof of the car.
Joker nodded. His .38 weighed heavy in his boot, a 9mm was snug against the small of his back, tucked in the waistband of his jeans and hidden under his denim shirt. A bowie knife hung from his belt, hidden by the shirt as well. He was as ready as he could be.
They headed to the trailer.
Blood crept along the side, positioning himself at the rear exit that appeared seldom used. His back to the mildew-covered metal siding and his gun drawn, he lifted his chin, signaling Cat to go ahead.
She slipped into the car, fired it up with her key, and backed out quietly. When she was in the clear, Joker climbed the porch stairs and knocked. He wasn’t sure what they’d find inside, but they’d be ready for anything. They needed to be, especially with that GMC parked out front.
An older woman came to the door, dressed in a housecoat, and Joker knew she must be Holly’s mother. She would have been pretty if she’d tried to do anything with herself, but the alcohol abuse had long ago robbed her of any interest in her appearance. She wore no makeup, her hair wasn’t combed, and she looked tired and worn out.
“Yeah? What do you want?” she asked.
“I’m looking for Holly.”
He heard a male voice growl from inside the trailer. “Get rid of him.”
The woman glanced to whoever had spoken and then murmured, “She’s not here. I haven’t seen her.”
When she tried to close the door, Joker jammed his boot in the space. “Her car’s sittin’ right there. Now where is she?”
He heard a muffled female voice, like someone had a hand over a mouth. It had to be Holly.
“Goddamn it, woman, get the fuck outta my way—” Joker roared as he slammed his shoulder into the door. Holly’s mother stumbled back as it burst open, flinging her into an upholstered chair that almost toppled over.
“Where is s—” Joker broke off when he turned his head and saw Holly in the kitchen. A man just as big as the old guy down the road said he was, stood behind her, one arm tight around her waist, pinning him to her. But it was the other hand that stopped Joker in his tracks. A cold fear chased down his spine when he saw the butcher knife pressed to Holly’s throat. His eyes cut to the man wielding it.
Raymond Ortiz. Had to be him.
“Get the fuck out!” Ortiz growled.
Joker had a split-second to assess the situation. The guy had a knife, but Joker was also good with a knife, and it’d be safer than taking a shot and possibly hitting Holly. Only problem was, for the knife to do any good, he’d have to get close enough to use it. Raymond Ortiz was at least six foot three, with weightlifter shoulders. Getting within reach of those big hands wouldn’t be smart.
Joker’s hand itched to go for his gun as he saw the fear in Holly’s wide eyes, but he knew better than to play that card too soon. His gaze flicked up to the man’s dilated pupils. He was high on something, and that may slow his reaction time, but it also made him unpredictable as hell.
The sharp edge of that blade pressed against Holly’s tender skin.
Joker couldn’t make his brain work, except to visualize Holly lying lifeless on the filthy linoleum floor in a pool of her own blood. And he knew he’d do anything, including give up his own life, to see that didn’t happen.
“I said get the fuck out!”
“Don’t do anything stupid, you son-of-a-bitch,” Joker murmured.
“Stupid? I’m the stupid one? You just busted into my house, asshole. Come to get this bitch, did ya?”
“Put the knife down, and you and me can talk about it. Or ain’t you man enough to go up against me? Standin’ there, hidin’ behind a woman.”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll slit her throat. Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it? You came here lookin’ for her; that tells me she means somethin’ to you. So, yeah, you’ll do whatever the fuck I say.”
Joker lifted his hands. “Okay, man. Okay. Take it easy.”
“Caught her rifling through my stuff, lookin’ to steal my drugs. Thinks she’s smart enough to pull one over on me. And if you’re with her, then you must be here to steal from me, too.”
“No, man. I’m just here to get her home, I swear. I don’t know you. I don’t know what shit you got goin’. Don’t care about your business. I just want to take her and go. That’s all.”
“Fat fuckin’ chance.”
Joker’s gaze never left Raymond Ortiz’s black eyes, but he did see out of the corner of his eye Blood slip inside the back door, and he knew it was imperative that he hold Ortiz’s attention and give his brother a chance to get to him. And if that failed, Joker knew he might have to make the split-second decision to pull his gun and take the shot.
This was some nerve-wracking shit, playing roulette with Holly’s life. His jaw ticked. He was afraid he would lose his temper and screw this up. He knew it was time to play a card, one ol’ Raymond wouldn’t see coming.
“Here’s how I see this, Raymond. I came for Holly, and I’m not leavin’ here without her. Thing you don’t realize,” he paused, his brows arching, “I didn’t come alone.” He gave Ray a few seconds to realize he was fucked. “The one thing that would swing this deal your way? You drop the knife.”
Raymond just smiled an evil smile, and all Joker could think was how badly Raymond needed his head caved in.
Blood seemed to read his mind. Black eyes glinting, he crept soundlessly closer, maneuvering behind the man.
Joker paused, leaned forward slightly, and dro
pped his voice. “And now you’re fucked.”
Uncertain if he heard him right, Raymond didn’t move, but his grin faded. He suddenly put the pieces together and started to turn. It gave Joker the split second he needed. His arm flashed up, the 9mm in his hand and the barrel leveled at Raymond’s forehead.
Ortiz froze, but he still wasn’t willing to give it up. That knife still pressed against Holly’s flesh, and she began to tremble.
Joker’s deadly gaze traveled to the terror in Holly’s tear-filled pleading eyes.
This was it, the point of no return. He was going to kill the motherfucker and probably go to prison for it. He’d spend the rest of his life rotting in a six by nine cell, but right now none of that mattered. Ortiz falling dead to the ground and that wickedly sharp, deadly knife dropping from Holly’s tender, vulnerable throat was all that mattered.
Blood saved him from committing the murder a split second before he squeezed the trigger. Blood smashed an empty vodka bottle violently on Ortiz’s skull. The big man staggered for a second, then dropped like a ton of bricks. The trailer shook as his heavy weight hit the floor, and the old woman screamed, shrieking that they’d killed him.
Holly stood there, shaking like a leaf. Joker grabbed her to him, catching her weight as she, too, almost collapsed to the floor.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. It’s all over,” he whispered the promise in her ear, but looking over her shoulder at the rousing man on the linoleum, he knew it wasn’t over. It was far from it. Joker met Blood’s eyes and said softly but deadly, “He’s mine.”
Blood didn’t argue. Joker knew he wouldn’t because if a man had touched Blood’s ol’ lady like that, he’d have a score to settle, too.
“Cat!” Blood called out.
The door opened a moment later, and Cat dashed in.
“Oh my God.” She froze as she took in the scene: Raymond Ortiz on the floor, Blood standing over him, his gun aimed at his head, her mother wailing and ranting, and Holly shaking in Joker’s arms.
Joker passed Holly to Cat. “Take her out of here. Wait in the car.”
Cat nodded and reached for her sister, but Holly clung to him.
He cupped her tearstained cheek with his palm and looked into her wet eyes. “It’s okay, baby. It’s over. We’re going home. I need you to go with Cat, now.”
She nodded as he passed her to her sister. When they were gone and the door shut behind them, Blood stepped back, keeping the promise he’d made to Joker.
“He’s all yours, Brother.”
Joker jammed his gun in his waistband, extracted a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket, and slipped them on his hand. With a growl, he wailed on the man’s face, punch after punch, until blood spattered the ceiling and teeth went flying.
He beat the man near to death, while Holly’s mother screamed and pleaded for his life. And that just sickened Joker even more. Where had all her compassion been when it was her daughter’s life in danger?
Blood moved over her, and she cowered into a chair. He raised his arm back as if he were about to backhand her. “One more sound out of you, and I’ll shut you the fuck up, you hear me?”
She shut the fuck up and Joker kept at it.
He was in a frenzy of rage and wasn’t even sure he could stop himself until he felt Blood grab his forearm in a vice grip, ordering, “Enough, Joker. You’ll kill him.”
Joker’s lungs heaved, and he stared down at the unconscious man. He wanted him dead. He deserved it. He at least deserved the pain being inflicted.
Blood shook his arm, drawing his gaze. “Brother, I got no room to lecture anyone on impulse control, but he stopped feelin’ the hits a long time ago.”
Joker yanked free and gave him a final vicious kick to the groin—one the son-of-a-bitch would feel when he finally came to.
Then he spun and moved back through the trailer, searching, needing to see for himself the hellhole Holly had grown up in. It wasn’t pretty. There was a master bedroom and two smaller ones. One had an arsenal of guns, as well as drug paraphernalia. The other looked as if it had once been a young girl’s room, flowered wallpaper and posters tacked up. The twin bed was piled high with clutter, but Joker’s eyes took in every detail of the girl that Holly had once been; her love of art was evident by the dusty faded drawings still tacked to the wall, as well as her love of Kid Rock, Coldplay, and Carrie Underwood.
Cobwebs covered the wooden letters above her bed that spelled out the word, DREAM.
His eyes froze on it. He didn’t know what her dreams had been, but he swore to himself he’d spend the rest of his life finding out and making them come true.
Backtracking down the hall, he moved to her mother, planted his hands on the arms of the chair, and leaned into her face. “I don’t give a damn about you or your pathetic life, but if you even think about calling the cops, there’s enough evidence in those back rooms, both of you will rot in prison for years. Understand?”
She nodded. “Is he alive?”
“That’s all you care about isn’t it? Not your daughter. Just that piece of shit lying on the floor who keeps you in booze. And that’s all that will ever matter to you.” He shoved away. “You deserve each other, bitch. I hope when he comes to, he beats the crap outta you.”
With that he stalked out, and Blood followed.
They paused outside. Joker sucked in a lungful of clean night air, and Blood tore his hand through his hair.
They didn’t talk about it and didn’t need to. What had gone down in that trailer had been personal, ugly, and screwed up. And none of what they’d done made up for what those girls had gone through growing up there, and that was a hard pill for either of them to swallow.
Joker bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, emotionally drained. Seeing Holly’s life come so close to ending had taken more from him than he wanted to admit. He felt shaky as hell. “Jesus Christ.”
Blood huffed out a breath in agreement then looked over at Joker. “Brass knuckles, huh? Goin’ old school on me. You’re just full of surprises.”
“Never leave home without ‘em.”
“What you did in there? Didn’t know you had it in ya, kid.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Blood nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re more like your old man than I figured.”
Joker straightened. The night air was cool on his sweaty face, and he looked to the starry sky above. He needed to go to Holly, but he needed to get his shit together first. He’d see that knife at her throat in his sleep for the next month. “You got any smokes? I’m all out.”
Blood dug in his pocket and held out a pack. Joker reached for the Marlboros, grateful his hands weren’t shaking. Lighting up, he took a deep steadying inhale.
“You had a lot to get past with Holly before we got here. Now even more,” Blood warned him in a quiet voice.
Joker knew he was referring to that mess with Whitney. Yeah, they had a lot to talk through. He only hoped what had happened tonight wouldn’t have her putting up walls again. She did, he’d deal and spend as long as he had to tearin’ ‘em back down, because she was worth it. What they had was worth it.
Joker flung his cigarette butt. “We better get the fuck outta here before that bitch calls the paramedics for that asshole.”
They walked back to the cars. Cat and Holly were in her car. Joker moved to the door on Holly’s side, opened it, and squatted down. His eyes swept over her. She looked shaken, but a whole lot better than she’d been in the trailer. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Her eyes met his in the light from the dome. “Thanks for what you did in there.”
He nodded, not sure how to respond to that. She’d sounded almost robotic.
“I just want to get out of here. Can we go now?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Cat had her arm around Holly, but she met his eyes as she stroked Holly’s head. It made him realize that for right this minute, her sister may be the person she needed most. H
e was good with that. He’d have time later to talk things through with her. He stood and closed the door.
Blood leaned against the front of the car, giving them a moment to talk. He twisted and looked back. “She okay?”
Before Joker could answer, the sound of another motorcycle caught their attention. Their heads swiveled to see a bike slowing and turning into the trailer park. It rumbled in, and Joker averted his head. Blood did, too, turning and dipping his head as he ground out his cigarette beneath his boot.
Joker saw Blood glance sideways at the biker, who looked right at him as he rolled past. And fucking hell if the biker didn’t have a Death Heads cut on. Thankfully, he rode on down to park at a trailer around the bend. They heard the bike cut off. Just their luck one of them would live here.
Joker and Blood both moved at once. Blood leaned in the driver’s side window where Cat sat behind the wheel of her car. “Head back and don’t stop. We’ll catch up to you. Go!”
The small compact car sped out onto the road.
Joker jumped in the driver’s seat of the Impala with Blood taking shotgun, hissing, “Get us the fuck out of here!”
Joker wasted no time peeling out of the trailer park and aiming them back toward the interstate. He looked over at Blood. “Goddamn. He recognize you?”
“I don’t know, but I remember him. He was one of the son-of-bitches held me prisoner in that row house in the Quarter.”
“Oh, shit!”
“Exactly. If he remembers where he’s seen me and calls his brothers, we’re fucked. I already had a taste of their hospitality; ain’t lookin’ to repeat it.”
“We aren’t wearing cuts. Maybe he won’t put it together.”
“Let’s hope.”
Joker glanced in the rearview mirror. He remained alert, scanning for motorcycles at every intersection.
“Be glad when we shake the dust of this town off our boots,” Blood muttered.
“Me, too, brother. Me, too.” Joker glanced down at the dashboard. “Aw hell!”
“What?” Blood asked, his head snapping around.
“We need gas.”
