Beyond the Cut

by Sarah Castille

“Thor to the rescue.” Shelly-Ann snorted. “Where’s your hammer? Oh. I forgot. You don’t need one. You prefer to kill men with your bare hands.”

  “What’s she talking about?”

  “How much?” Cade said to Shelly-Ann, pointedly ignoring Dawn’s question.

  “She owes me another eight hundred.”

  Cade pulled out his wallet and counted eight hundred dollars into Dawn’s hand. “Your choice, sweetheart. You can pay her, or you can walk out of here and leave her to me.”

  “Hey.” Arianne gave an indignant sniff. “I was here first. If anyone gets to throw a few punches at Shelly-Ann it’s me, and only if Dawn doesn’t want to do it first.”

  Dawn stared at Shelly-Ann, considering. But how could she inflict violence on someone after what she’d suffered at Jimmy’s hands? She hated Shelly-Ann, but she couldn’t physically hurt her, and she couldn’t ask anyone else to do it. “I’ll pay her.”

  “Good call,” Shelly-Ann let out a breath. “Didn’t think you were the type who could live with blood on her hands. Thor, on the other hand, probably went drinking with his brothers after killing Rusty the other night.” She scrawled the babysitter’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to Dawn.

  “You killed Rusty?” Dawn whirled around and stared at Cade aghast. She remembered Rusty from her time in the Brethren—a tall, thin, redhead with a scraggly goatee, and one of Jimmy’s closest friends.

  “Club business.”

  “Club business is the same in every club,” Shelly-Ann said bitterly. “It’s all about blood and pain. And bikers are the same wherever you go. Does your man beat you like Jimmy did? ’Cause from what I saw there’s not much difference between them.”

  Dawn’s mouth opened and then closed again. Why was she so surprised? The Sinners were outlaw bikers. They would do anything for their club—even if it meant taking a life. Cade was the Sinner treasurer and one of Jagger’s right-hand men, positions that had to be earned by proving yourself in the MC. Plus, Rusty had been part of the gang that had kidnapped and beaten Cade. He would have known justice was coming …

  Still, she couldn’t shake the niggle of doubt Shelly-Ann had planted in her mind. Cade was a violent man. Just like Jimmy. And what if that violence spilled over to her?

  NINE

  I will follow the creed before I follow my heart.

  SINNER’S TRIBE CREED

  The Whitefish trip wasn’t going as planned.

  Although Cade had initially been glad to take off with Zane and the prospect right after the altercation with Shelly-Ann, he couldn’t get Dawn’s shocked expression out of his mind. Not during the spectacular three-hour drive through the mountains. Not when their new prospect had to keep pulling the cage off the road because every damn cop seemed to be on the lookout for black SUVs. And especially not when they arrived at the house of the Brethren’s weapons broker and found him dead.

  “Well, damn.”

  From the state of the poor bastard’s body, and the pungent smell of rotting flesh, the broker had been dead for a while, and from the fact his body was untouched, no one really cared.

  “His guards are out here,” the prospect called. “They’re dead, too. Looks like there was a gunfight.”

  “Weapons are missing from the shed,” Zane called out. “I’ll text Jagger and let him know. My guess is they were taken weeks ago.”

  Could this day get any worse? Dawn had acted almost as if she were afraid of him outside Shelly-Ann’s house, and yet he’d exercised almost unbelievable restraint when he’d let Shelly-Ann off with only a warning. And what did she expect? That he’d slap Rusty on the wrist and tell him not to do it again? Dawn had been part of this world. She knew how it operated. She knew he might have had to take a life. Or eight. But only to protect his brothers. And now they were short the weapons they needed to launch an offensive against the Jacks.

  Cade did a walk around the small, isolated, villa-style house that had served as the broker’s base. But other than the four dead guards, and two whining pups, he saw nothing that would give a clue as to who might have stolen the weapons.

  He fed the dogs and filled their water bowls, then went in search of the prospect. Damn, he couldn’t remember the dude’s name. Of all the prospects they’d had over the years, the quiet, geeky, pretty boy with blazing green eyes and sharp features had to be the least likely prospect ever to want to be patched into the club. But he was a tech genius, and could fill a gap in the club’s knowledge base that was getting larger by the day.

  He found the prospect throwing up in the bathroom with Zane looking on in disgust.

  “Why the hell did you bring him?”

  “Prospects need to learn,” Cade said. “Plus there was no way I was driving the damn cage and I knew you wouldn’t volunteer.” Brothers rarely drove in vehicles when they could ride their bikes, leaving the cage driving to old ladies, prospects, and junior patch.

  “That prospect can’t learn dick.” Zane turned and Cade followed him from the bathroom to the small patio out back.

  “What did Jagger say?”

  “He wants us to go see Demon Spawn. Hard to believe five men were shot on their turf and they didn’t know anything about it.”

  While Zane checked the rest of the house, Cade went to get the prospect, now pale and pasty after losing his lunch. “Ready to go?”

  “We should take his tech.” The prospect pointed to a computer as they walked through the house. “Might be a clue in his computer or phone about who took him and his men out.”

  “Take what you need,” Cade said. “And then put the dogs in the truck. We’ll drop them at the shelter.”

  “Christ. They’re just dogs.” Zane gave an exasperated sigh. “They got the sense to run away.”

  “They’re pups and they didn’t have the sense to run away from a house full of dead bodies.” Cade whistled for the dogs. “And why not help them find a home instead of letting them run loose on the streets?”

  He had a soft spot for strays. Selma, the golden Lab, who had been his comfort and constant companion since he was four years old, had wandered into his yard one evening and never left. He had been shocked his dad allowed the dog to stay, but Selma was smart enough to understand his father’s insecurities. Loyalty was the way to win his affection. Whenever Cade’s father was home, Selma never left his side, but Cade always knew he had her heart.

  After dropping off the pups, they arranged to meet up with Matchstick, president of Demon Spawn, and some of the club members at a bar in town. Demon Spawn had been forced into their role as a Sinner support club, which meant all meetings had to be public in case resentment got out of hand.

  By the time they reached the bar, Cade was ready for some serious distraction. Smelling of JD and tobacco and made up to look like an old western saloon with some scratchy Bob Seger on the jukebox, the bar was the perfect place to relax. Matchstick, a Zane look-alike with dark skin, dark hair, and brooding looks, brought two sweet butts and a pitcher of beer to their booth, and Cade settled down for what promised to be a much better evening than he’d expected.

  A blonde with short, curly hair immediately slid onto his lap. The other girl, a petite brunette, took the seat next to Zane. Usually Zane sent the girls away, but they were gifts from the host MC and asking them to leave was the ultimate in disrespect.

  “Don’t know much about that broker,” Matchstick said after they’d dispensed with the pleasantries and turned to business. “He usually kept to himself.”

  “Hard to believe a major arms dealer was shot in your territory along with four of his men and you didn’t know anything about it.” Zane toyed with his glass, his free hand under the table, no doubt within easy reach of his weapon.

  “We’re a support club, not a fucking babysitting service.”

  Zane withdrew his weapon and placed it on the table. “Maybe you don’t understand the role of a support club.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Cade put a warning hand on Zane
’s arm. “I think it was just a poor choice of words. He knows what would happen if Jagger had to send up some of our brothers to remind him that we tolerate Demon Spawn’s presence only as long as they remain loyal.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Poor choice of words.” Matchstick ordered a bottle of whiskey on the house and then waved over his old lady, a statuesque blonde with fake tits and an orange tan.

  “You want her for the night, Cade? I heard you appreciate a fine piece of pussy.”

  Christ. His reputation preceded him, even up north. Usually, he would have laughed and made a joke, then accepted the offer, but tonight the reminder grated on his nerves. “Appreciated, but I got this little sweet butt in my lap to keep me busy … and a girl at home.” He squeezed the girl’s ass and made her squeal, cutting off Zane’s snort of disbelief.

  Matchstick apologized again and excused himself to take a call. His VP, Skid Mark, a short, stocky man with a military buzz cut, took his seat and they segued into a conversation about the arms trade up north. But Cade felt a growing sense of unease. Whether it was the way some Demon Spawn brothers kept looking at them or the VP’s slightly off manner, Cade’s instincts were blasting a warning at full volume.

  The blonde nuzzled his neck and Cade tensed. He’d almost forgotten about the sweet butt in his lap. Her hair wasn’t soft or curly like Dawn’s hair, and he was damn sure that color wasn’t real. He picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Jagger expressing his concerns about Demon Spawn, then flicked to Dawn’s number. He liked seeing her name in his address book. What she was doing right now?

  Zane and Skid Mark were deep in conversation, and the girls were talking to each other. A quick glance around the bar assured him nothing was obviously wrong. Why not send a quick text and find out what the hell was going on?

  Hey

  He couldn’t think of any better way to start so he pressed SEND and drank his beer as he waited.

  Hey yourself

  Hmmm. No humor in her tone, but at least she’d texted back.

  U working tonight?

  Took the night off to spend with the girls. Just dropped them off. U back from Whitefish?

  Still here

  Nice place 2 be working

  Not nice work 2 be doing. What r u doing on ur night off??

  Fixing the sink

  My kind of woman

  Not so sure about that. You alone?

  At a bar with a local MC

  Another strip bar?

  Fuck. Why hadn’t he lied when she asked him about Peelers? He wanted her to forget he’d gone there. Ever. He wanted her to forget the rumors about him. He wanted her to trust him, but how could he expect trust from her when he couldn’t even trust himself?

  Just a bar

  They give you a sweet butt?

  Ah. Of course she would know what went on when bikers visited another club. He should lie this time. Zane wouldn’t tell her what was going on, and the truth would just reinforce in her mind that he was exactly the kind of man she thought he was.

  And she would be right.

  “Hey brother.” Zane leaned across the table and tapped a spoon on Cade’s glass. “Skid Mark asked you a question about passenger pegs. Wake the fuck up.”

  The blonde looked down at the phone and laughed. “He’s busy texting Dawn.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Cade pushed her off his lap. “You don’t look at a man’s phone.”

  “But you can text one woman while you’ve got another on your lap?” Zane refilled Skid Mark’s glass from the pitcher on the table. “Cade’s got a way with the ladies. A good way. No relationships. No complications. No women making promises they can’t keep. No shattered dreams or promises. No betrayals or jumping into bed with the first bastard who knocks on the door. He’s got it right. Women can’t be trusted. Not to keep the faith. Not to hold true. Not to respect a man’s soul.” He thudded his fist on the table and the woman beside him beat a hasty retreat, pulling the blonde with her.

  “Whoa, brother.” Cade held up a hand. “Maybe you’ve had one too many. You wanna step outside for some fresh air?”

  Zane nodded and they excused themselves from the table and walked out into the night.

  “What the hell did that bitch do to you?” Cade asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

  “Nothing I want to talk about.” Zane kicked at a stone and then leaned against a pillar, his arms folded. “It was a very long time ago, like when Jagger and I were kids long.”

  “Well, you scared those girls pretty good, so it looks like neither of us is gonna have a good night. You wanna go back to the motel? Something felt off in that bar.”

  “Thought it was just me,” Zane said. “Didn’t like the way they were watching us. I’m thinking we should head back home tonight. Not keen on having my throat slit while I’m sleeping.”

  After texting the prospect to meet them outside the hotel, they walked down the main street, and then turned up an alley. The air had cooled rapidly since the sun set, and Cade’s skin prickled despite the hoodie he wore over his T-shirt.

  Or maybe it wasn’t the cold.

  Too late he heeded the warning. Gravel crunched behind them, and two men stepped into the alley from the road ahead.

  “Two behind us,” Zane murmured, half turning.

  “Son of a bitch.” Cade drew his weapon as the two men in front walked toward them. “It’s Mad Dog. What the fuck is he doing here? And with Matchstick?”

  “Maybe he came to help us load the missing weapons.” Zane drew his weapon and positioned himself to cover Cade’s back.

  “Maybe he’s tired of living and came here to find me ’cause I’ll be happy to take care of that problem for him tonight.”

  “Jagger gave his word. He’s untouchable.”

  Cade’s lips pressed into a thin line, his body tense and thrumming with energy as the enemy approached. “I’m beginning to regret that decision. You shoulda seen what he did to Dawn’s face.”

  “I saw what he did to your tat.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cade. “Noted that you weren’t enjoying Demon Spawn’s hospitality.”

  “Nope.”

  “So … you and Dawn … there’s more than just the usual one-night stand?”

  Christ. Of all people to call him out, it had to be Zane. The dark horse. The man who’d been burned by a woman so bad, he kept all women at bay. But what the hell. Even if they made it out of this ambush alive, it wasn’t like Zane was going to tell anyone. The dude had no close friends except Jagger and, except for tonight’s outburst, he rarely talked to the brothers.

  “Yeah. Maybe. I dunno. Never met a woman who’s gone through so much shit and come out of it so soft and sweet. But she’s a fighter. No matter what Mad Dog throws at her, she meets it head-on.”

  A smile played about Zane’s lips. A fucking smile. Cade had never seen Zane smile. He looked almost … normal.

  “I might just be looking the other way if something happens to Mad Dog. Man’s gotta protect what’s his.”

  He almost couldn’t believe the words he’d just heard. Zane? On his side? And because he thought Cade and Dawn were tight?

  “You looking the other way now?”

  “I am indeed.”

  * * *

  Dawn felt like a human sacrifice. Summoned to the Sinner clubhouse to meet Cade when he returned from Whitefish, she had dressed in her favorite red, stretch knit dress, added a pair of killer heels and prepped like she was going out for a night on the town. Sexy and sophisticated, her dress had a fitted bodice with a deep V neckline, an open back with double straps, and a fitted midi-length skirt that hugged her curves. He wanted to see her; then he would see her. And after she told him just what she thought of his evenings full of blood, strippers, sex and sweet butts, she’d take the damn welcome out the door. He’d had one free pass. He didn’t get another.

  Yesterday had been a brutal reminder of the violence and misogyny inherent in the one-percenter lifestyle. And yet she co
uldn’t reconcile the man who had allegedly killed Rusty and spent the night with a Demon Spawn sweet butt with the man who had pushed her children on the swings and done so much to protect her. So she’d come to the clubhouse to assure herself she wasn’t making a mistake, to end it before she became emotionally entangled with the wrong kind of guy. But damned if she wouldn’t give him something to remember her by.

  “Smile. You look like you’re at a funeral.” Arianne jabbed her in the side and Dawn shifted along the worn, brown couch.

  “I am. My funeral.” She lowered her voice so only Arianne could hear. “How awkward is this going to be? I don’t even know why he asked me to be here. Maybe he just wants to tell me it’s over, which would save me from having to do it. Or maybe he just wants someone to warm his bed now that he’s finished with his Demon Spawn sweet butt. He wasn’t ashamed or even apologetic. He didn’t even bother to answer my text last night until an hour later, and only then to ask what I was wearing. Like he’d done her and was ready for more. I believed him last time about Peelers, but this is too much.”

  “What happens on the road…” Arianne turned up the volume of the crime show they’d been watching, sufficiently violent to keep T-Rex and Tank entertained, but not violent enough for Dax or Bandit who were throwing darts at the far side of the living room … at each other.

  “Stays on the road,” Tank said with a grin. The heavily built junior patch could have been T-Rex’s dark-haired twin. He had the same build and easygoing nature, although he didn’t seem too bright.

  Tanya, the house mama, looked over from her seat beside Dawn and scowled. “Stupid rule. If you ask me, it’s just a license for men to sleep around.” She brushed back her sleek chestnut bob, and Dawn felt a stab of jealousy. Even her stylist, Kitty, couldn’t fight Dawn’s curls, and had suggested wigs as a preferable disguise for her secret before- and after-school visits.

  “We all know you’re hot for the new prospect, and you’re wondering if he enjoyed some Demon Spawn hospitality up in Whitefish,” Tank said.

  “If I was his old lady and he did, it would be…” Tanya drew her finger across her throat and Dawn laughed.