Filthy Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Iron Bones MC) (Whiskey Bad Boys Book 3)

by Kathryn Thomas

  “I don’t know about this,” I said when we’d driven for about an hour. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing.”

  “We’re supposed to give it time. Sherman doesn’t know we’re in town, which means he must have some way to get the information to me. We’re waiting for that. We’ll play his game.”

  I didn’t like that part either. I didn’t want to be bait.

  “I’m just going to change the rules a little.”

  Just as he said it, his phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out of his leather pants and held it against his ear.

  “I know what he’s talking about,” he said a moment later, but he didn’t sound happy. They were snappy with each other, and the guy on the other side started talking loud enough for me to hear how angry he was. “No, this isn’t going to be a lot of trouble. After tonight, it should be sorted… yeah. I know.” Saxon stayed calm despite the obvious rage on the other side.

  He hung up and took a deep breath like he was trying to compose himself again. “That was Skinner. My boss, sort of. He said Sherman contacted him saying that he has you, and I have to meet him at Sunrise tonight, alone, or I’ll never see you again.”

  “What did this guy… Skinner say?” Skinner. It sounded like a terrible name.

  Saxon stared out at the road for a moment, long enough that I wondered if he’d heard what I’d said. When I wanted to repeat myself, he finally answered me.

  “He’s not happy with me being here in the first place, but as long as I don’t bring this business back home, it’s going to stay personal and he can’t say anything about it. I need to make another call.”

  He started punching numbers into the phone, not watching the road, and I gripped the door. I wasn’t sure if this Skinner guy knew Saxon had plans. I didn’t really know anything about Saxon’s life, but as far as I could tell, a guy with a name like Skinner was bad news.

  “He doesn’t really think I’m a good idea, does he?” I asked. The question was burning in my mind, and as much as I knew it wasn’t my business, I just had to know.

  “It’s none of his business,” Saxon said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Besides, it’s not like having you in my life has really caused a lot of trouble for the group. Just for me, personally.”

  “Really,” I said and looked out of my window. I didn’t know I’d caused him so much trouble.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

  “Well, good thing the group is safe from me, right?” I said and my tone was snappy. I was irritated and scared and this whole thing was too much for me. I knew I was overreacting, but I was beyond the point of no return.

  “Don’t be like this,” he said. “I’m here, for God’s sake.”

  I wanted to open my mouth and tell him I didn’t ask for him to be here, but then I caught myself. I couldn’t remember if I’d asked or if he’d offered. Either way, he was being a dick.

  “You don’t have to do me any favors,” I said. That sounded better. He could interpret that one however he liked.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Saxon said and stepped on the brake hard enough that the dash came at my face too fast for me to react. My head didn’t slam into it, but it was close. Saxon pulled to the side of the road.

  “What, are you going to throw me out?” I asked. My voice was challenging, and I leaned forward in my seat, glaring at him. He turned, too.

  “I know this whole thing is shit, but you don’t have to be a bitch about it. I’m here to look after you and to save my own ass. I made mistakes, and I’m fucking fixing them, so get off my case and try to see that I’m not just doing this for myself. Okay?”

  His anger crackled in the car around us. He had a white ring around his mouth, and his eyes were electric.

  “Fine,” I said, but my attitude had drained, and now I just felt small. I sounded like it, too.

  Saxon faced forward again. Then he banged his fists so hard on the steering wheel I was scared something would break—either the wheel or his fists. Nothing broke, though, and when he looked at me again, his anger had died down a little.

  “Look. This is a ploy to get me there, and either beat me up or kill me. I’m about to let that happen. I’m also not going to let him have you. So you’re going to have to suck this up. I know it’s a man’s game, and it’s shit that you’re involved, but ride it out with me.”

  I nodded.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Saxon shrugged, and that was as much as I was going to get by way of acceptance.

  “So what do we do?” I asked. I felt like I’d been trampled. My body ached, and I felt suddenly nauseous. Saxon pulled back into the road and put his foot down on the gas so that we were traveling as fast as Kenneth’s crappy car would allow.

  “I was about to phone some of my men who are closer than the gang. They’ll come through, and we’ll sort this out once and for all. You won’t be involved, and we’ll fix this.”

  “And if they hurt you?”

  He chuckled. “Honey, you don’t know what this kind of life is like. I can handle myself.”

  That wasn’t really an answer, either, but I knew Saxon was good at giving me those, so I shrugged and concentrated on the passing scenery.

  “We’re going to pay Sherman’s buddy a little visit, and we’ll be more than they’ll be. We’ll turn the tables and let things fall where they may.”

  A horrible thought just occurred to me. “Are you going to kill him?”

  He was quiet for a beat before he said, “No.” But it was long enough for me not to be sure about that. I wasn’t going to argue about it though. The honest truth was, the fact that Saxon might kill Kenneth scared me less than the fact that I wasn’t sure I would think it was that horrible. To know that I was capable of feeling that, or rather, not feel anything about it at all was way scarier.

  Saxon lifted his phone to his ear, glancing at me as if he wanted to be sure I had nothing else to say. He waited a moment.

  “Butch,” he said. “I’m going to need some help with cleanup tonight.”

  CHAPTER 33

  I left Tanya at the cabin. No one was going to bother her there; it belonged to the gang and we hadn’t used it in how long. I definitely didn’t want her involved in what was going down tonight. I’d contacted some of my guys who were about an hour out.

  “Is it going to be bad?” Tanya asked when I shrugged into my leather jacket with my kutte on the back. Sherman was going to know what hit him tonight, and he was going to know not to fuck with me again. This wasn’t just about our identity as a gang. When I’d saved Tanya from him that night she’d been running, he’d made it personal. And you didn’t want to get personal with a biker gang.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. Because the truth was, it was going to get ugly. He’d made it ugly. “Nothing’s going to happen, and Sherman made sure that there will be no police.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He kidnapped you, and he’s organized a meet and greet with some of his muscle men. Trust me, the police won’t be involved. That’s the type of shit that can get on his permanent record.”

  She hugged herself like she was cold, even though the weather outside was boiling, and she sat down on the bed. I walked to her, put my finger under her chin, and tipped it up.

  “I’m just going to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

  She looked like she was going to cry, but when she spoke, her words were steady. “You’re going to come back, right?”

  I leaned down and kissed her.

  “I’m not planning on running away.”

  I walked out of the cabin, hearing the door bang shut behind me. I felt on top of things; this was what I did best. I had my leathers on, and I was on a mission looking for trouble. Maybe blood would spill tonight, maybe it wouldn’t. Regardless, this had been coming a long time, and I was looking forward to ending this chapter.

  I got on my bike and drove to the gas station about two miles before the
town. I’d arranged with Butch and the boys to meet me there. I waited five minutes before the familiar Harley-Davidson roar filled the air. It sounded like it came from everywhere at once, and the attendant inside peeked out of the window before disappearing.

  Four bikes rolled in, and the guys on them weren’t of the take-home-to-meet-the-folks variety. Butch was big, not just muscle, but fat, too, and he had a scar down his cheek, starting from his right eye and ending at the corner of his mouth, which was in a permanent snarl. Jason sounded like your prep school type, but that was as far as the similarity went. He was shorter than the others were, but he looked as mean as they came, with tattoos at his temple and around one eye and a goatee. I didn’t recognize the other two, but they were introduced to me as Rodeo and Quin, the twins. They both had red hair and blue eyes, but that was the only thing that they had in common.

  Rodeo looked like he’d been in his fair share of fights, with scars on his cheeks where they’d split open from a good licking, a missing tooth, and a black eye that still looked fresh. He was my height. His twin was almost a head taller, with long hair in a ponytail down his back. His knuckles had F-U-C-K-Y-O-U tattooed on them, and he still had all his teeth. His one ear had half of it sliced off somehow.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, holding out a hand that Butch shook.

  “I heard about this weasel from Skinner,” Butch said, and he spat on the ground. “What do you want us to do with him?”

  “I’m not heading in with you guys. If Sherman sees me with an entourage, he’ll know something’s up. I want you guys to level the playing field so that when I do talk to him I don’t have any interruptions.”

  Butch nodded. He understood what I meant. I wanted to work Sherman over myself, and my knuckles were itching for a good pounding. The boys didn’t have our logos on their backs. The idea was to keep it simple. Get rid of Sherman’s bodyguards and then take him out personally. That way no one got hurt.

  At least, none of us.

  We got on our bikes and drove the last bit into town. We split up, and I parked two blocks away, walking back so that there were only four bikes outside the pub, not five. Sunrise was filled with regulars—much the same as when Tanya and I came here, except that this time the bartender looked twice when we walked in.

  One biker he could apparently handle. Five was a different story.

  There were already three big burly men sitting at the bar, having a drink, but I didn’t recognize any of them, and I was almost a hundred percent sure that Sherman was going to wait for darkness before he sent in his goons.

  Nightfall came, and I was right. Just before it was full dark, I walked to the bartender and leaned on the bar. He eyed me.

  “What can I get you?” he asked, but his tone had a warning in it like he was going to do something drastic if I caused trouble. Right. He was middle aged and not equipped.

  “Grey Goose,” I said and put a bill on the counter. While he poured it, I glanced over my shoulder and then around the pub. I spotted a couple of booths in the back.

  “VIP section?” I asked and gestured toward it with my head. He nodded slowly like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to answer. I nodded and wrapped my fingers around the long and tall, drinking deeply.

  “That’s some good Goose,” I said. “Mind if I make myself comfortable?”

  I put more bills on the counter. A VIP deposit, encouragement, bribe. Call it what you will. He hesitated and then nodded again, scraping the bills toward him. I took my drink and made myself comfortable.

  Butch made eye contact across the bar and then turned his back, cutting me out so that we didn’t look like we were together.

  Ten minutes later, Sherman walked in. He wore a collared shirt, new by the looks of it, jeans, and shoes that were so shiny I bet he could see himself in it. He had three big men following him in, wearing denim jackets just like the first one had when Tanya and I’d come in. Cute, his own little gang.

  The bartender didn’t seem to mind. Maybe he knew these guys. From the look of things, Sherman wasn’t a stranger this time. People had their fingers in all sorts of pies. I leaned back in my seat, lowering until I was lying back like I was just feeling the booze. But I didn’t want Sherman to see me.

  The drinks they ordered arrived, but they stayed by the bar, huddled in a little group, drinking their beer and whispering. Sherman kept glancing at the door. Maybe he was expecting me.

  Butch glanced in my direction, and I nodded. This was it. It was time to turn the tables and throw the game in my favor. Butch got up and the twins followed. Jason stayed behind, sipping his beer a little, like he had nothing to do with it. It was always good to have backup. I just wanted the big guys gone, then I could deal with Sherman myself.

  Butch and the boys went to the bar and leaned on the sticky wood.

  “You boys need a refill?” the bartender asked. Butch eyed the bottles behind the bar like he was deciding. Sherman noticed them and frowned, but he didn’t say anything. Butch glanced over at the denim gang and saw what they were drinking.

  “Yeah. I was thinking I want what these fellows are having, but it looks a bit weak for my liking.”

  Denim Jacket number one picked up on the insult.

  “You have a problem with what I’m drinking?” he asked.

  Butch pulled a face. “No, I just wouldn’t have that in public.”

  Denim Jacket number two caught wind.

  “Do you have a problem, buddy?” he asked. Quin stepped in, his towering height making all four of them look up like they were kids. I wasn’t sure from where I was sitting, but it looked like Sherman swallowed hard.

  It was quick from there. Rodeo stepped right up into the one guy’s grill.

  “I don’t want trouble in my bar,” the bartender said. They would have ignored him if it wasn’t for Sherman and his damn intuition.

  “Something’s not right,” he said, louder than the crackle in the air that was building between the men. “You’re not just picking a fight for the fun of it, are you? Dammit.” He ran his hands through his hair, turned around, and started pacing away, not caring what happened behind him. Or maybe he trusted that nothing would happen without his say so. It looked like Butch wanted a fight though. He kept opening and closing his fist.

  “Back off, boys,” Sherman said, coming closer again. “They’re here to ruin it all.” He glanced at Butch and looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He turned to one of his own men instead and said, “This isn’t going to happen. I don’t know how he knew, but Saxon isn’t coming. He sent his henchman instead.”

  He spat the word out like it tasted foul, and Rodeo looked like he wanted to pick it back up and feed it to Sherman. The bartender cleared his throat, and he had a baseball bat over his shoulder, looking like he meant what he said about no trouble.

  Butch gave that bat one look and nodded. He could take him if he wanted, that was for sure, but we didn’t pick fights with civilians unless it was really necessary. And in this case, the less the public knew about what was going on behind the scenes, the better. Sherman started walking away, and his men followed him. They were leaving. Running, maybe, but they weren’t fighting. Butch looked at me just as they walked through the door and out into the night, and there was a question in his eyes. He was asking permission to go after them and start a fight, even if the plans got botched.

  But I wasn’t going to look for trouble. Not yet. I had to figure out what we were going to do to get to them first. I doubted that Sherman would just give up now. He wasn’t the type; I’d started to get to know him and how he operated, and the last thing on his mind was to give up.

  No, something else was going to happen. And I just had to get ahead of him. I shook my head at Butch. He deflated a little, the fight leaving him, and he scowled.

  He finished the last bit of the beer that was left in the bottle and put the empty on the bar. I got up and walked toward them. The bartender gave me a dirty look, which
I returned. He quit doing it.

  “Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Rodeo said, and he looked sour. They’d all been sporting for a fight.

  “We’ll get our chance. It’s not over yet, and until it is, I’m going after him.” I cracked my knuckles and felt the bartender’s eyes burning in my back. When I turned to look at him, his eyes were dull and his eyebrows raised. Maybe he could deal with more than I gave him credit for at first.

  “Not in my bar,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I answered. “The idea is to get rid of trouble, not bring it into town.”

  He snorted like he didn’t believe me.