Dutch: (Lucifer's Breed MC Book 4)

by Ryder Dane

  Then again not much happens in Bostwick, Louisiana. Next to the bayou, we have all walks of life that come to visit the bank and parish. But I wasn’t born here. Nope, I was brought to this great state by my dad who took a job out here after my momma left us for a rodeo rider. It still eats at me that I didn’t have a momma growing up, but I try not to dwell on it too much. I at least had my gran, and that was more than some people had.

  Living with Gran had its fun moments, but afternoon naps sucked, and eventually she relented me having to take them as long as I stayed inside and read, or watched a movie. Plus Gran had some neighbors close by who would watch me when my dad had to work. They were nice to me, but I can still remember them talking about me and my mother, and hoping I didn’t turn out like her. Other comments came in hushed whispers at church, but Gran would try to get me to focus and ignore them all.

  It wasn’t until after high school that Gran suffered a stroke and didn’t wake. I used what little money I had, and some of the money she left me, to get a car and an apartment. That’s how I got the job at the bank, the owner knew Gran and offered me one as long as I was willing to work in the mornings.

  As for Gran’s house, dad and I never had the heart to sell it, so it still sits in the big field on the west side of town. Since dad no longer lives in Bostwick, he asked if I wanted to move into it, but the place was just too big, and it wouldn’t feel right without Gran. The sweet smell of fresh baked bread still lingers every time I go to dust or need a break from everything; it’s like coming home. My own secret haven. I would love to one day move in with my own family, well, at least that’s what I tell myself. Lost in my little world, I look at the clock and realize I have been daydreaming for far too long, and it is time to start the day.

  ******

  ~Wolf~

  “I don’t see why we can’t just go huntin’ this fucker. He’s a piece of shit and needs to be taken off the streets. Plus there is a hefty sum on this head.” I hate creating detailed game plans; unlike, Hawk, who loves them and wants them drawn up for each case. I know in the end it will be to our advantage to do this, especially with a stalker, so yeah, I relent.

  “I see that, Wolf, but don’t ya know we can’t go running through the bayou without knowing where he went. He could be gator food, but I don’t think he is. He’s smart; I’ll give him that.”

  I nod as I drink my bitter coffee. God, I hate it when Hawk makes it, or even when I make it. Neither of us can figure out this new high tech coffee machine. It’s something Snake and Gunner bought, but they’re on vacation right now.

  The four of us make up Wild Bounty, the best bounty hunters in the state of Louisiana; hell, anywhere else too, if you ask me. That thought has me looking around the room, and I see the small plaque sitting on the wall that houses our business permit. I wish we could take it down; the damn thing had our real names written on it. Hawk’s name isn’t that bad, Remy DeBlanc. It’s a hell of a lot better than mine, Beauregard LaRue. We gained our nicknames when we were little kids running around in the swamp behind my house.

  I had great parents; always attentive, and willing to help anyone out. Half the time my cousins would come over, and we would have giant crawfish boils. It was the best time growing up on the bayou, knowing what you catch- you eat. But my mom had a soft spot for those who needed a little extra attention, which was Hawk. She doted on him when she could. I don’t remember how many times she found ways to make Hawk feel at home. From a pair of old shoes or with just an extra sandwich. And being that my mom was half Natchez Indian, she gave nicknames to pair with our animal spirits. They fit all our time on the swamp. Hawk had sharp eyes and was always aware of his surroundings, and me, I was a silent predator, and extremely protective of family. It’s funny how those names stuck even when we left home to join the Marine Corp.

  My dad is pretty awesome too, he worked as a fisherman; catching shrimp, crayfish, and when we got tags, gators too. It was a hard job, but dad said it put food on the table and kept him grounded. Hell, he even helped during football season and coached the team at our local high school. Still does when he’s not out on his boat. Shit, makes me remember I need to go see him.

  My momma passed just three years ago from a cottonmouth bite. It makes my heart hurt when I think about her. She was always so careful, but when she went to check her garden, she bent to pick up a pot, and the damn thing was hiding under it; it caught her right in the neck. No one was home, and the dogs were locked in the back, and by the time she made it to the hospital driving herself, she fell into a coma and just didn’t wake. It was something I wished I could have been home for, maybe I would’ve been able to help her. But she was proud of me and Hawk for protecting and serving our country.

  We got out two years ago, and that’s when we opened shop with Gunner and Snake, who we met in the Corp. Gunner, Trent Trudeau, and Snake, Jeramiah Mayeux, became our employees, more or less. The four of us served together, and lucky for me, Gunner and Snake grew up only a few counties over from us.

  Hawk snaps me out of my little daydream, which brings us back to some sick bastard who is stalking a young woman and even skinned her cat. Wish I could say I’m shocked, but hell, in this type of work, we see it all.

  “Fine, who’s the chick?” I ask.

  “It’s Zoey Thornburg. A teller at Parish Bank in Bostwick.” I know the place, it’s small that’s for sure, but to have a stalking case there is a bit unusual.

  “Okay, maybe we should pay her a visit and see what she can tell us about this Andrew Zamora,” I say before I chug the rest of the coffee. Man, this cup had coffee grounds in it? Grinding my teeth on the residual items in my mouth, I get up and find a water bottle.

  “We can, but I have to warn you, she’s been questioned by the police several times, and out there they tend to think she led him on. It’s not a good situation for her,” I hear Hawk state while he picks up and washes his cup out before grabbing a bottle of water too.

  I know about small towns like this, and it’s one thing I hate about them. If you have someone who is local and has been for years, they get the preferential treatment over the person who is considered a transplant. The more I look at the case, and sure the bounty is a nice sum, but knowing this dipshit will be off the street is better.

  “I still say we talk to her and tell her like it is,” I suggest.

  “‘Kay; let’s head on out. It’s a good forty-five-minute drive to her house, but I think she’s at work. So let’s get some food and hit a few places the fucker has been known to hang out and then hit her up.”

  “Works for me.” I grab my bag that holds all my tools, and anything I might need for any case. Then we jump into my Ford F150 and speed down the road to Bostwick.

  The drive is pretty steady, and I love days like this. An open winding road in the middle of nowhere; the only things out here are gators, snakes, and other critters that wouldn’t mind eating whatever falls into its waters.

  They have a saying in the bayou, ‘What goes into the bayou, doesn’t always come out of the bayou.’

  We make it to the small, sleepy town of Bostwick in record time; I like to hit the gas pedal and feel the rumble of the truck. The only thing I enjoy more is my boat, which we use for work and play. It’s great for fishing crawfish or shrimp for gumbo or jambalaya when I have the time to make it.

  “This it?” I ask Hawk.

  “Seems to be.”

  “Shit, I can piss longer than it will take to drive through this town.” And I can, the damn road couldn’t be a mile long through the town.

  “This is the main road in town; the rest is pretty spread out. Let’s start at the bar.” Long Shots sits between two large oak trees, and various cars and bikes litter the parking lot. As soon as I pull in the smell of food hits me, making my stomach growl. Maybe eating here would be a good idea too.

  I reach for the heavy wood door and push my way inside. The music is playing some soothing Jazz, which
is probably normal this time of day. Several people stop and look toward us. This happens to us a lot. We are both about six-two to six-three. We also tend to work out a lot, but I will say, it’s because of the leather covering our bodies and the dominant look we both have about us that really draws attention. There isn’t anything we can do about it; it is what it is. In our line of work, it comes in handy. Most men won’t fight me or Hawk; they come peacefully and our insurance rates stay pretty standard.

  Finding a small booth off to the side, Hawk sits down first, and I follow. The table is slightly wobbly but not sticky; the seats look to have been put back together with duct tape. The waitress, who looks middle-aged, comes walking over to us, setting down some coffee cups and starts to pour us each a cup.

  “What can I get you boys?” she says with a Cajun accent. It’s obvious she’s from around here, and I want to use this to our advantage. I’m good at getting what I want, but first I want food. Taking a sip of the coffee, I look at the small menu she gave me; it’s simple, two items for breakfast and three items for lunch and supper.

  “I want the pain perdu and bacon,” I say. I should have told her extra bacon, but being we are on a hunt, I want to eat light. Hawk orders the same thing.

  The food comes out quick and soon we are done eating.

  “You boys seem mighty hungry. Is there anything else I can get ya?”

  “Well, ma’am, we could use some information,” Hawk says with a smile.

  “Information, huh?”

  “Know anything about Andrew Zamora?” I ask without missing a beat.

  “I think you boys should leave.” And just like that, she puts down the check and walks away. That went as well as I had hoped.

  Chapter Two

  ~Zoey~

  “Okay, I will see y’all tomorrow.” I lock my drawer up in the safe and grab my purse before heading out of the bank.

  It’s only about three in the afternoon, and I’m hungry. Lunch consisted of the cookies leftover in the break room and some water. I would have loved to eat a big meatball sub, or maybe a Po-boy sandwich, but I have no time. Oh, and no money. I keep forgetting evil budgets. Since I have about three dollars and thirty-eight cents until payday, which is in three days, I’m gonna go home and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, without the bread. A simple spoon for the peanut butter and one for jelly. I ate the last of the Pop-Tarts this morning, and I have a few other things, such as Ramen noodles, but I don’t know how old they are.

  I’m normally better with money, but it cost me a lot to move into another place and away from Andrew and his stalker tendencies. Well, that and the fact he slashed my car’s tires and killed my cat. Anyway, that’s how I ended up here. But as my stupid co-workers say, it’s one hell of a diet, and I can use it to lose a few pounds. Evil skinny bitches.

  I pull my keys out of my purse and make it to my car. The small parking lot is fairly empty, and it’s easy to see everything around me, but I’m on edge. Until Andrew is found, I’m always like this. He is the shadow man who haunts me during the day and terrorizes my dreams. I just wish it was over. Getting into my car, I quickly lock the doors before I start the engine. It starts with a small purr before I back out and head to my small apartment. The apartments are set up like small townhomes.

  I have to walk up the stairs to go inside, while the backside has the bottom level. It’s different, and not many of the things I have are new as, once again, Andrew broke into my last place and wrecked everything. It’s not like I have many friends or any family to help me out. Sure, I can go and stay at Gran’s house, but I can’t bear knowing what Andrew could do to that place.

  Doing a quick double take over my shoulder, making sure no one is behind me, I open my door and quickly lock it before taking a small breath. The police have said countless times that they will catch him, but he skipped bail with the help of friends; most likely got in a small pirogue cutting through the small swamp area by the levee in the back of his property before heading to someplace else. It was something he talked about a lot when we did go out. His favorite fishing area. I didn’t pay attention much then, but now I recall every word he said to me like a bad play.

  Shaking my head, I walk upstairs and into my kitchen setting my purse down. It gives me a few minutes to think of how I want to spend my night. I can take a bath and read, or maybe watch a chick flick. Screw it, I wanna watch Back to the Future. It will keep me busy until I’m ready for bed.

  Heading to my small bedroom, I pull off my boots, setting them in my closet, and leave on my silly socks. Okay, so I have a weird addiction to socks. I had so many before- well, I don’t need to wander down that crazy thought again. Today I have on toe socks which sport a chick with glasses, and the words ‘Smart Chick’ covering them. Pulling off my belt, necklace, and then pulling my hair into a ponytail, I find my fuzzy PJ bottoms and a hot pink wife beater with lace. I look in the mirror before I head into the living room. My hair looks the same; everything looks the same, but I feel so different.

  Going to the kitchen, I go to grab my so-called dinner when a knock sounds at my door. It is so loud it echoes throughout my small apartment. Fear grips me and before I can even think twice I grab the nearest thing to me, which is a small cast iron pan sitting on my stove. I tiptoe down the stairs as someone knocks again. However, this time, I end up yelping, scaring even myself. I look through the small peephole and see two large men in leather. One has a beard and dark sunglasses on, while the other has his longer hair pulled back, but his face is clean-shaven. They definitely don’t look like they belonged in Bostwick. “Can I help you?” I ask through the door.

  “You Zoey?”

  “Depends on who’s doing the asking,” I reply.

  “We’re from Wild Bounty; we came to ask some questions about Andrew.” Shit, no wonder they didn’t look like they were from around here.

  “Look, I told the cops all I know. But when you find the son-of-a-bitch, shoot him in the nuts.” Okay, so maybe I’m a little hostile about the whole situation.

  “We just wanna talk. We ask things different than the locals. Can we come in?”

  Shit, I really hate this already, but looking at their size and knowing they’re after Andrew is all I need to open the door. If Andrew took one look at them at her house, he might actually leave her alone.

  Opening the door, I have a split second to regain my control. Looking at them through a small hole is one thing, but full body, holy shit, I think I just came from their proximity alone. Both look at me before I wave them inside. One step in and instantly I have to back up, the first guy is fucking huge and takes up the whole doorway. I don’t give them a chance to say anything before I walk up the stairs and wait until I hear them lock the door. The loud noises from their boots echo through my small apartment, and I’m worried the neighbors might complain.

  “You plan on hitting me with that, chéri?” the second guy asks me.

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure who was at the door,” I respond.

  “I’m Wolf, and this is Hawk. Can we, um, sit?” I guess he finally looked around and saw my place. I have a small loveseat and a chair. No couch. I nod and instead of taking a chair, I hop up onto the counter, crossing my legs and wait. Sure, I’m a bigger girl, and it probably didn’t look right, but I’m so used to it, it’s a natural habit.

  I watch as both try to act comfortable, and one ends up standing; guess he didn’t like my chair. The man standing is Wolf, strange name but oh well.

  “When’s the last time you saw him?” Oh, so he is getting right to it seems.

  “Well, the last time I saw his sorry ass was when he showed up when he should’ve been at court. But someone wasn’t watching him.” I’m irritated with repeating myself.

  “Any place he likes to go?” Wolf seems to be the man wanting all the answers.

  “The cops know all this. Look, I didn’t know him very well, and not many people are gonna break down and
tell you ‘bout him,” I respond, with maybe a bit too much attitude.

  “Yeah, kinda found that out at Long Shots this morning.” Hmm, Wolf is the talker of the two it seems.

  “Not surprised, probably ran into his aunt or cousin. They all run pretty tight around these parts.”

  “Then why don’t they watch you?” Wolf asks me.

  “I’m a transplant. Though it was when I was a kid. My gran’s from Bostwick, but Daddy left when he met my momma. When my momma left, he brought me back here. I was about eleven at the time.” Wow, I have no idea why I just told them all that. It could be that with their large stature, I feel safe. There is no way Andrew can evade them if they actually get him in their grasp.

  “‘Kay, so what did you not tell the police about him?” Oh, Hawk can talk.

  “I told them everything, and the only real reason they picked him up is because of my cat.”

  “The dead one?” This time, it’s Hawk who looks at me. His eyes are a silvery gray and they instantly draw me in.

  “Some people are just sick in the head,” I state, it hurts knowing he hung and skinned Penny like a coon. I wouldn’t have known it was her, but he took a before picture.

  “I agree. So you told the cops he went up the bayou?” Wolf asks as he walks around looking at my apartment.