HIS PLAYTHING: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Voodoo Devils MC)

by Zoey Parker

  As he did, Carter considered his immediate future some more. How would Billie factor into that? He'd still have to cut her loose before crossing over into Mexico. Ideally, he knew he should do it before meeting up with the others at the truck stop, to keep things from flaring up with Hazmat again. He knew their faith in his leadership was shaken—he was the one who'd insisted they'd be safe hitting that last bank, which was where all of this trouble had started for them—but he was confident that he could earn it back fairly quickly as long as he didn't show up to their rendezvous with Billie on his arm.

  Still, the thought of just turning her loose wasn't sitting well with him. He knew he could move around and evade the law more easily without her, but he'd also come to enjoy her company. She could be funny and resourceful, and her knowledge of the state had helped them out of a couple of jams already.

  And he had to admit that it was difficult to think of walking away from her without ever having the chance to find out how her body would feel pressed against his, or the sounds she made when she was fucking.

  He shook himself off and zipped up, wading through the weeds again to get back to the cabin. When he opened the back door and stepped in, he found himself looking at Billie again, and for the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility of taking her to Mexico with him.

  Why not? She'd admitted that there was nothing and no one to keep her in Cactus Hollow. It seemed like a life of travel and adventure would suit her more than going back to that shitty bar and pouring whiskey shots for hayseeds. Plus, there was clearly an attraction between them. Hell, if the new MC had already existed, he'd probably have invited her to stick around as his girlfriend. So why not before then?

  But crossing the border would already be difficult enough for him, Oiler, and Hazmat, even without the authorities knowing who they were. Everyone would be on the lookout for Billie by now, and taking her with them would mean they couldn't just breeze past the border guards on bikes and hope they wouldn't be searched randomly. They'd have to hide her, or disguise her, or...

  Shit.

  Carter shook his head, trying to clear it. Trying to make plans for her to come with them was stupid, no matter how pretty she was or how much Carter liked having her around. He'd only known her for a day, and that couldn't possibly make her worth scrapping what few plans he and the others had left to get out of this in one piece with their money.

  Billie mumbled something in her sleep and turned over onto her other side. Carter realized that he'd been standing and staring at her for too long, and he figured she'd probably find that kind of creepy if she happened to wake up and see him standing there. He decided to give her some more time to sleep before they started off again.

  As he walked back to his chair, he felt the tip of his boot connect with something small, sending it skidding across the floor. He followed it and bent down to pick it up, examining it carefully.

  It was a digital scale.

  Carter frowned. He'd seen scales like this one before, mostly when the Hobgoblins had used them to weigh out baggies of coke and heroin before selling them. As far as he could tell, there weren't many other uses for such scales except for weighing ingredients before cooking—and looking around, he couldn't see any food items that would require such precision.

  His eyes fell upon the box of sandwich bags on the table, and a bad feeling started to creep over him.

  Carter opened the back door again, looking out at the foliage between the shack and the outhouse. Earlier, he'd only been interested in whether the plants with the long, spiky leaves were harmful. But now that he really stopped to examine them, he had no trouble recognizing them.

  Still, it could just be a coincidence. He didn't want to wake Billie up until he was sure.

  He looked for the floorboards that appeared newer than the others and took his pliers out of his vest, crouching down. Slowly, carefully, he pried up the nails that held the wood down and lifted the boards up, peering under them.

  There were dozens of bricks of dried marijuana buds wrapped in plastic.

  Fuck me, he thought. The people who use this cabin aren't hunters.

  And they could be coming back any minute.

  Chapter 21

  Billie

  Billie sat in a darkened movie theater with Samantha, sharing a large tub of popcorn with her. Samantha was still eight years old, and as she looked down at her own hands and dress, Billie realized that she was too.

  Without turning around, Billie somehow knew that Panzie was sitting several rows behind them. She could hear his fussy, frustrated sighs and the crinkling of his candy wrappers, and she understood that he was jealous that she'd go to the movies with someone else. She had a sudden urge to turn around and throw popcorn at him for being so silly.

  The previews ended, and Billie experienced those familiar few seconds during which she forgot which movie they were here to see. Then she remembered—Samantha had wanted to see some stupid thing about wizards and goblins, but Billie had insisted on a Western. And as always, Billie won, since her aunt and uncle were so willing to indulge her after the deaths of her parents. This had never really occurred to her when she was a child, but now the realization brought her a nauseating wave of guilt, and she didn't feel hungry for popcorn anymore.

  The movie started with a bombastic soundtrack that included whip-lash effects, and as she looked up at the screen, she saw a handsome outlaw with long brown hair. He was better-looking than the stars of any of the Westerns she'd seen, and it took her a few moments to realize that he wasn't an actor at all—he was Carter, dressed as a cowboy with a dusty black hat on his head. He was on the back of his palomino, under a gnarled tree in the middle of the desert with his head hung low and a noose around his neck. His hands were tied behind his back.

  Billie saw that she must have been mistaken about Panzie sitting behind them. He was in the movie too, sitting atop a mule and wearing a ridiculously large white Stetson hat. A polished gold star was pinned to his shirt, and he was reading from a list of charges.

  “You are hereby charged with robbery, kidnapping, horse thievery, and general wickedness,” Panzie intoned. His dialogue was badly-dubbed. “In the interest of the public good, you will be hanged by your neck until dead.”

  The scene was simply too ludicrous, and Billie burst out laughing. But instead of continuing with the scene, Panzie looked up from the charges and scowled directly at Billie, his eyes dark with rage. Billie was suddenly terrified, but the shrieks of laughter kept coming no matter how much she tried to stifle them.

  “I don't think it's nice, you laughin',” Panzie snarled. “This here mule I got, see, he don't appreciate folks laughin'. Gives him the nutty idea that they're laughin' at him. Now apologize.”

  Billie's laughter ended sharply. She had never seen Panzie so angry and she tried to apologize, but no matter how much she opened and closed her mouth, no sounds would come out. She turned to Samantha for comfort, but instead, Carlito was sitting next to her with eyes that were both sad and accusing.

  “There are two kinds of women in this world, gringo,” he said, cleaning a shot glass with a rag and shaking his head. “Those who are hostages, and those who are accomplices.”

  Then suddenly it was Billie up on the screen, sitting on her pinto under the tree with her hands tied and a length of rope around her sunburned neck. She turned and saw that Carter was hanging from the branch next to her. His horse was gone. Carter looked like he'd been dead for a while, and flies were buzzing in his eyes.

  Billie faced forward, ready to beg Panzie to let her go instead of punishing her for not wanting him the way he'd always wanted her. But Panzie was gone, and the rattlesnake was coiled in front of her horse, flicking its tail.

  “You ain't comin' across the border with us,” the snake said, the last word extending in a sibilant hiss.

  Then the rattler bared its fangs and lunged for the pinto's front legs. The horse jerked with a frightened whinny and Billie felt hers
elf start to slip off its back, the noose tightening around her neck.

  Chapter 22

  Billie

  Billie woke up to find Carter shaking her roughly. He'd already put on his t-shirt and vest, and his saddlebag was slung over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said. “We need to get the fuck out of here right now.”

  She rubbed her eyes. She'd never been good at waking up quickly, and the bizarre nightmare had left her mind feeling fuzzy. “Why? What's going on?”

  “The people who left all this stuff in the shack grow and sell pot.” He pointed to an area in the corner. “Look.”

  Billie peered across the room and immediately saw the pried-up boards and stacked blocks of weed.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  “We're probably right at the edge of their fields,” Carter hissed urgently. “It looks like this is where they package and store the stuff, probably daily. Which means they could show up anytime. We can't be here when they do.”

  Billie hopped up from the bed, and Carter opened the door. But before they could leave, they heard the sound of two loud engines growing closer. The noises startled the horses, who whinnied and reared up.

  “Fuck,” Carter growled. “Too late. We'll never outrun them on those horses.”

  “How many bullets do you have in those guns?” Billie asked.

  Carter produced both guns, checking them. “My gun's got one left, but I have an extra clip for it. The revolver I grabbed from the bank guard is down to two rounds, though, with nothing to reload it.”

  “Maybe it's still more than they've got,” Billie suggested hopefully.

  “Fingers crossed,” Carter said. He replaced the clip in his own gun and handed the revolver to her. “Let's get inside.”

  They slammed the door behind them just as the engines approached the shack. Billie knelt down and snuck a peek through one of the broken windows. She saw three young Native American men pull up on ATVs.

  As they dismounted their vehicles, Billie saw that each of them had a pump-action shotgun strapped to his back.

  “Looks like we're probably not going to win this one with bullets,” Carter commented from behind her. He'd been looking out over her shoulder.

  “Whoever you assholes are,” one of the Native Americans called out, “you're trespassing on a Taysha Indian reservation.” As he said this, he gestured to one of his companions, who went around to the back of the shack.

  Goddamn it, Carter thought. So much for slipping out that way. Not that we'd have gotten far anyway.

  “Bullshit!” Billie blurted out. “The reservation border's almost a mile from here.”

  “Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't,” the man said. “But either way, you've got about ten seconds to come out the front door with your hands up. You do that, we can call up the local cops to settle this little territorial misunderstanding for us peacefully. You don't, we'll be within our legal rights to come in there shooting. Either suits me fine, but I hope you'll go with the first option. I borrowed that fridge in there from my uncle, and I'd rather not put holes in it if I can help it.”

  “We both know what you've got stashed in here,” Carter said. “Which means we both know that if my friend and I come out there, you won't be calling up any cops to deal with us. In fact, I'm betting you'll shoot us both in the head and bury us out here so we won't call the cops on you. Am I right?”

  “Five seconds,” the man replied.

  “Look, no one needs to die here today, okay?” Carter insisted. “I robbed a bunch of banks between here and Alabama. Maybe you saw it on the news? We're on the run from the cops too, so believe me, the last thing we'd want to do is get them involved. Just let us take our horses and go, and I promise no one will hear about your operation from us. All right? Do we have a deal?”

  There was a long pause. For a moment, Billie thought it might work.

  Then the man said, “Sure. Of course. Because that's what we do, you know? We believe white people when they come onto our land and make promises, and we make deals with them. That's always worked out so well for us in the past.

  “Your time is up, by the way,” he added, “so here's my deal for you: Come out of there now so we can end this quickly, or we'll come in there and make it last.”

  Chapter 23

  Carter

  Carter looked around the cabin's interior, trying to think of some way to get them both out of this alive. They were hopelessly outgunned if the men decided to force their way in, and even if they could somehow make it to the horses, they'd still be dead meat when the ATVs came after them. For them to live through this, they'd need to buy some time and figure out a way to make a deal, and the guys with guns didn't seem inclined to talk.

  Unless...

  “So, you seem pretty eager to collect some scalps today, huh, chief?” Carter called out.

  Billie elbowed him hard in the ribs, giving him a “What the fuck?” expression. He held out a hand for her to be patient, then pointed to the gas can and the packages of weed. Her eyes widened and she smiled, creeping over to the can as the man answered.

  “First of all, I ain't no chief,” the man said. “So calling me that is racist as fuck. Second, despite what those bullshit movies would have you believe, the Indians weren't originally in the habit of scalping. We learned that from the white cavalry officers and bounty hunters who were paid by the number of Indian scalps they returned with.”

  Billie opened the gas can and tilted it over the bricks of marijuana, looking at Carter questioningly. He nodded and she started to pour the fuel out.

  “And third,” the man finished, “if you think stalling is going to save your ass, you can think again.”

  “Yeah, I'm sure sorry about that,” Carter retorted. “I guess that was a pretty obvious move. But to be fair, we just needed a few extra seconds so we could slosh all this gasoline around the cabin.” By now, the plastic-wrapped bricks were thoroughly doused and Billie was tossing more of the gas around the room.

  “Save a little bit of it,” Carter whispered. “We'll need some on our way out.”

  “Fuck you,” the man outside said. “You're bluffing.”

  “The weed looks like it's wrapped tight enough that the gas won't get down into it,” Carter said. “Which means so far, it should still be fine to sell. But once those flames start up, hoo boy...I'd give it about twenty or thirty seconds before it's all burned to hell. Another thirty before the rest of the cabin goes up.”

  “You must think I'm stupid,” No Chief countered. “If you light the place up, you'll both die too.”

  “We come out, we die,” Carter shrugged. “You come in, we die. If we're going to croak anyway, I figure we may as well go out with our lungs full of pot smoke. All these outcomes are the same to us, but for you, it'll mean losing about...well, let's see. A brick's about a pound, so sixteen ounces at about three hundred per ounce is...?” He frowned, looking at Billie.

  “Almost five thou per brick,” she chimed in.

  “And we're looking at, what, about two dozen bricks here?” Carter continued. “So that's, wow, over a hundred thousand up in smoke. If I were you, I'd be trying pretty fucking hard to hear another way out of this situation.”

  No Chief sighed. “And I suppose you have a perfect solution to offer me?”

  “We sure do,” Carter said. “You let us both go, and you toss us the keys to one of those sweet-looking ATVs. In return, not only do you get to keep your cabin and your weed, we'll even throw in those two horses outside. How about that?”

  No Chief laughed incredulously. “First all that scalping shit, and now you think I want to trade for your fucking horses? You really have seen too many movies, you insulting paleface cocksucker. What's next? Are you going to offer me some beads or something?”

  “I don't have any beads,” Carter said. “And I didn't mean any insult. We stole those horses from the Tiller farm. I'm guessing you've heard of it?”

  “Sure,” No Chief sai
d. “Best animals in the state, or so they say.”

  “Best animals in about three or four states, according to the 4-H judges,” Billie said. “Those ATVs probably cost you, what, five hundred? You could get two grand for each of those horses easily if you sold them. Or you could keep them, or even return them to Old Man Tiller for a reward if you want. Either way, you'll be getting a lot more than one of those shitty four-wheelers is worth, that's for sure.”

  “Well, shit,” No Chief grunted. “I guess you've got me over a barrel. Fine, come on out and I'll hand over the keys.”

  “Good,” Carter said. “Thank you. You've made a wise decision today.”