Instigation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel

by Cat Mason

  “Who the fuck asks shit like that?” Colt barks, shoving open a box. “There’s food. Eat it.”

  “Here,” Shy says, snatching two from the box before Colt yanks it from her reach. Placing them on a napkin in front of Huck, she winks at him. “Save your liver. Celebrate with donuts.”

  Wrapping an arm around Shy, Huck pulls her in and kisses her temple. “At this point, Sweetheart, I’m just makin’ sure to wear out all the good parts before I go.” Releasing his hold on her, he winks. “Whatever keeps Doc from sellin’ ‘em on the Black Market when I croak.”

  “Most days, I wonder when I’ll lose what’s left of my mind and be carted off to the nut house,” she mutters, unable to hide her spreading smile. “Then shit like this comes out of your mouth and I realize I’m already here.”

  Once Jace puts on his cut, everyone congratulates him and heads for the bar to raid the boxes Shy set out before hauling ass to the kitchen again. Instead of fighting for baked goods, I round the bar and follow her.

  Stopping in the doorway, I study Cheyenne as she stands with her back to me, scribbling on a notepad. Her eyes shift between the opened cabinets and the paper as she writes. Exhaling harshly, she tosses the pen and pad to the counter. “I know you’re there,” she breathes, not turning around. “Your eyes are burning right through me.”

  “Turn around, Shy.” The moment the words leave my mouth, she freezes.

  “Why?” she asks, her voice low.

  “Because I asked nicely.”

  “That was asking nicely?” she snorts sarcastically.

  “Cheyenne.” Her name is a warning.

  “Do you always get what you want?” Her shoulders shake with silent laughter. Taking a deep breath, she turns slowly, not stopping until she meets my eyes. “Who am I kidding? Of course you do.”

  “I want you closer,” I admit, taking another step toward her. The second I am close enough, my arm slips around her waist, pulling her forward until her chest is pressed to mine. “When I got my cut—”

  Her eyes drift closed. “Ugh. Me and my big mouth,” she groans, pressing her hand to her face. “I knew that was gonna bite me in the ass the moment I said it.”

  “You snuck in to watch?” I ask, pulling her hand away.

  Her eyes open, lips parting, her tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip. “Yes,” she breathes, nodding her head slowly.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to see the look on your face,” she blushes, her eyes dropping to my chest. “I was proud of you guys.”

  Her words wash over me, the simple admission taking me by surprise. Even more so, the fact that I like hearing them come from her. No one has ever said that to me before. Not my mother. Not Vic. My uncle cared about me, I never doubted that, but the man wasn’t much for the touchy feely shit. I never needed or expected someone to stroke my ego, or blow smoke up my ass. I am satisfied as hell with my accomplishments, and I have worked my ass off for everything that I have in this life. But I didn’t do any of it to please anyone else.

  “You were into me then?” I ask, staring into her eyes as if they hold all the answers. The idea has my mind running through years of history, attempting to overanalyze everything she has said or done.

  How the hell was I so damn blind?

  She sighs softly, then nods again, slower this time. “I’ve been into you a lot longer than I’d ever wanna admit.”

  “Why keep that shit from me?” I ask, though I sure as fuck don’t see any reason worth a damn in my mind. “Things could’ve been a lot different.”

  “Because we were friends,” she replies, her eyes softening. “Then because of Troy.”

  “Don’t bring him into this, Cheyenne,” I warn, the mentioning of that motherfucker’s name leaving her lips while I touch her pissing me off more than I ever thought possible.

  “You know, until that last day, he never gave me one reason to doubt he loved me,” she argues, becoming defensive. “I was content with how things were. Hell, I was happy. I wasn’t going to be greedy or reckless and risk ruining any of the good I had in my life because of some ridiculous crush.”

  “Content?” I seethe. “Be honest with both of us, Babe. You fuckin’ settled when you married that goddamn clown.”

  “Excuse me?” she blinks in shock.

  “Being content does not equal being happy. Being claimed is not the same as being loved.” Grabbing her arms, I shake her. “If he ever really loved you at all, he’d have made sure you knew the difference.”

  “Where the fuck were your negative feelings for Troy when he was unanimously voted into the club?” she asks, poking me in the chest. “What about that concern for my happiness when we got the blessing from the club to get married?” Her eyes harden, the soft lips I want to kiss, pressing into a hard line. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and shut the fuck up,” she bites out, shoving at me. “I don’t need any of this shit from you.”

  “And what is it you do need from me, Cheyenne?” I ask, towering over her.

  “I don’t have time for this bullshit.” Unfazed, Shy steps around me and storms for the door.

  “Hey,” I ground out, catching her by the arm in two long strides. “We’re not done here.”

  “Shy!” Huck calls out from up front. “You get another box? Colt’s tryin’ to break a record out here.”

  “Coming!” she shouts, yanking her arm free of mine. Grabbing the other two boxes from the table, she glances my way. “You may have fucked me, Schrader, but you don’t own me. Next time, keep your goddamn opinions and half-assed observations about my life to yourself.” Squaring her shoulders, she turns her back on me and strides from the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shy

  Handing off the extra boxes of donuts to Huck, I quickly make an excuse about needing to handle some laundry and haul ass down the hallway. Schrader doesn’t follow. After the bullshit he threw at me in the kitchen, if he did chase after me, I would more than likely rip his balls off and shove them down his throat.

  Yes, my husband was a piece of shit. You won’t find anyone on the planet that agrees with that fact more than I do. What made me so mad about Schrader’s attack on him was that he makes it sound as if he knew the whole time that Troy was a traitor. He didn’t. No one did. I refuse to believe that everything Troy ever said to me, or did, carried an ulterior motive. I doubt I would ever recover from a betrayal of that magnitude. I’ll be damned if I was about to stand there and listen to him talk about how different things could have been had I acted on how I felt.

  I also won’t allow that smug bastard to make me feel any more guilt than I already do.

  The rest of my morning is spent stripping my bed and scrubbing down the bathroom Schrader destroyed while cleaning himself up. Though, I have a bad feeling washing his scent from my sheets and towels are going to be a lot easier than erasing his touch from my body. Throwing his bloody clothes out into the hall, I take my bedding down to the laundry room and start the washer. It’s too bad I can’t clean up all the messes in my life this easily. Instead, everything around me is stained by my own shortcomings and mistakes. Hell, at this point, they couldn’t be more obvious to me if they were flashing neon signs.

  I didn’t need anyone pointing shit out to me.

  Especially not Schrader.

  Unfortunately, time passes a lot quicker than I would like. Before long, I have to get ready to go down to the police station and meet with Agent Hilster. After changing into black jeans and a yellow strapless blouse, I pull on my boots and put on my game face. After a serious pep talk in the bathroom mirror, I head outside to find Schrader leaning back against my car, smoking a cigarette.

  “You headed out?” Pop asks, securing the buckle on his saddle bag.

  “Yep.” Opening the driver door, I toss my bag into the passenger seat. “You?”

  “You know me,” Pop replies, giving me a smile. “Always anxious to get on the road.”

  I nod, knowing that it i
s about a lot more than that, even if he won’t tell me. “Be safe.”

  “Always am, Baby girl.” His eyes move to Schrader. “Stay close to her.”

  “Like glue,” Schrader replies, making me roll my eyes.

  “I’ll be fine, Pop,” I assure him, yanking open my door and climbing in. “See you when you get back.” Nodding his head, Pop heads over to where Colt and Stone are talking to my brother.

  Throwing down his cigarette, Schrader tugs at the handle on the passenger door. When it doesn’t open, he leans down, staring at me through the window. He wears a frustrated scowl, but there is amusement twinkling in his eyes. Part of me wants to slam on the gas and leave him standing here. But I also know that would only end with him chasing me down on his bike, and me catching hell from everyone for being such a pain in the ass during a time when everyone is working to do their part to help the club. Acting like a child right now isn’t going to help anyone.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, forcing all the tension to leave my body. Hitting the button, I unlock the door and wait until Schrader has finished adjusting the seat and buckled up before pulling out of the lot. Keeping my eyes on the road, I use the stereo controls on my steering wheel to turn up the radio.

  “Guess that means you’re still pissed,” Schrader says, staring straight ahead.

  “Being pissed implies that I give a fuck,” I toss out, gripping the wheel tighter. “I don’t.”

  “Oh, okay,” he says smugly. Stretching out in the seat, he wraps his arm around the headrest behind me. “I guess you screamin’ my name into the mattress while I drove my cock into your tight fuckin’ cunt was all part of that whole not givin’ a fuck too; huh, darlin’?” he asks, every word laced with arrogance. “Good to know.”

  “Hope you enjoyed that, asshole,” I reply, just as arrogantly. “It sure as shit won’t be happening again.”

  “Wrong,” he says with absolute certainty. “Not gonna fight with you on this right now. We’ve got shit to handle and you need a clear head to do that. That’s why I’m gonna make you a deal. I won’t even mention givin’ you my cock again until you beg for it.” Releasing his hold on the headrest, he crosses his arms over his chest, staring over at me intently. “And, Cheyenne?” he asks, his voice low and menacing.

  “What?” I ask, swallowing hard. The car feels like it is shrinking, like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of it and I am left to find something other than oxygen to fuel my rapid breathing.

  A confident smile spreads across his face. “You’ll beg.”

  Schrader doesn’t say another word on the drive to the police station, which is a double-edged sword. While I am happy for him dropping any sexual promise from the conversation, I will admit I was hoping for some kind of casual chit-chat to help calm my nerves. Being questioned by any type of law enforcement can be stressful for anyone, but knowing who I am, and where I come from, that only makes matters worse.

  I know all too well, to men like Agent Hilster, we are the enemy. While he may see the parameters of the law as simply black and white, Pop taught me to see right and wrong with a more technicolor view. One thing that he has shown me is not everyone that carries a badge is working to serve and protect anyone other than their own hidden agenda. Not that it is impossible to believe there are people out there abusing their authority while working whatever angle they can, in order to reap maximum benefits. There is a possibility of that kind of shit in every aspect of life, within every profession, no matter the social or economic standing. Whether those benefits are solely for themselves, or to help others who struggle in one way or another, is a whole other story in itself.

  One that is generally driven by selfishness and greed.

  The moment we step into the station, Officer Hilster immediately spots us. Walking away from Chief McKelvy, mid-conversation, he heads our way. “Mrs. West, how nice of you to come down to see us. Saves me the trip.”

  Plastering on the biggest smile I have in me, I prepare for an Oscar-worthy performance. “I’m nothin’ if not accommodating.”

  “Happy to hear it,” he replies, gesturing across the room. “Right this way.”

  Schrader is right on my heels. I can feel the heat of his body at my back with every step I take. Stopping at the end of the hall, Hilster opens a door and switches on the light. “Here we go.” His gaze shifts behind me. “Mr. Schrader, you can take a seat up front. I’m afraid it’s against protocol for you to sit in on our conversation.”

  “Is that so?” Schrader asks, sounding annoyed.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Hilster asks, arching his brow at me skeptically.

  “Of course not,” I assure him, waving Schrader off as I step into the room. “I don’t need a babysitter to talk to you. I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

  Schrader’s complaining is quickly silenced by Hilster closing the door. Rounding the rectangular metal table in the center of the room, I take a seat. Hilster sits across from me, scratching his chin as he studies me carefully. No doubt he is trying to figure out where to start. Or intimidate me. No such luck there. “What can you tell me about your husband, Troy, Cheyenne?” he asks, then clears his throat. “May I call you Cheyenne?”

  “That’s my name,” I answer, settling back in my chair. Crossing one leg over the other, I scan the room several times before making eye contact with him again. “I prefer it over Mrs. West any day. Now,” I begin, blowing out a breath. “Troy. Well, my husband was a lying, cheating, worthless piece of shit that I didn’t know nearly as well as I thought I did. I’m not exactly sure what you’re hoping to get from me; but I’m here to help anyway that I can, Agent Hilster.”

  “At this point,” he replies. “I am interested in any and all you can tell me. Building a profile on a suspect means you want to look at someone from all angles. Get the full picture.”

  “Well,” I nod, thoughtfully. “I wasn’t aware you spent such time building profiles on dead suspects. He wore a size fourteen boot, liked pineapple and olives on his pizza, and got a real kick out of havin’ murderous blonde whores on his dick. But you know that last bit,” I smirk. “It’s in your file.”

  “I see,” he replies, dropping his hand to the table. “Do you always case your surroundings so thoroughly? Or is it me that has you on edge?”

  I laugh, but it comes out sounding forced. Probably because it is. “Thanks to Troy, I’ve learned I’m not really a huge fan of enclosed spaces.”

  “I see,” he says again, the two words starting to work on my nerves. “I wasn’t made aware of that. My apologies.”

  “I prefer not to take out a full-page ad in the Legion Falls Gazette every time something happens in my life,” I sneer. “Look.” Taking a deep breath, I try to get a grip and remind myself why I am here in the first place. “I’m not a fan of the non-essential small talk with strangers bit. How about we get on with this shit?”

  “Eager to cut through the shit and get down to it?” Hilster nods, an impressed smile playing on his lips. “I can appreciate that.” Flipping open the blue folder on the table, he removes a pen from his shirt pocket. “What do you know about your husband’s involvement with Antonio Lorzano.”

  “That name again, huh?” I ask, arching my brow.

  “Familiar with it?” he asks suggestively. “Looks like your husband was.”

  “First time I heard that name was from you,” I inform him. “Not that I know why it should be so damn important. Maybe I should’ve Googled it.”

  “Antonio Lorzano is a well-known drug trafficker.”

  I shake my head. “The club runs an auto parts store and delivery business. Sometimes, the guys handle minor repairs for people around town who can’t afford Lazy Larry and his overpriced hourly labor rates. Twisted Mayhem doesn’t deal drugs. Never have, never will.”

  Shuffling through the papers in the folder, Agent Hilster flips over a photo and slides it my way. “Anyone look familiar?” My eyes lock on the man facing the camera a
s he shakes hands with another man, who I can only assume is Lorzano. Troy may not be wearing his cut, but I recognize him immediately. “This was taken two and half months ago outside of Milford. Sure do look real friendly, don’t they?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “Troy had a lot of friends I didn’t know about. Guess they all weren’t slutty blondes and dirty cops after all.”

  “Friends that use heavy explosives when handling business disputes?” he asks, flattening has palms on the table.

  This time my laugh isn’t forced. “Talk about a conspiracy theory. Last I checked, faulty wiring and a misfiring air compressor aren’t heavy explosives. There was no business dispute because there was no business. I told you, Twisted Mayhem doesn’t deal with drugs. Period.”

  “Then I take it you know nothing about the delivery truck found by Chief McKelvy, filled with Cocaine?” he asks, prodding me. “According to his report, that was thanks to an anonymous tip.”

  “I’ve never messed around with drugs, let alone sold them. My Pop taught us to chase the highs life gives us, not some chemical induced one.”

  Throwing down his pen in frustration, Hilster stands to his feet and begins arranging page after page in front of me on the table. “Come on, Cheyenne,” he grumbles impatiently. “Give me some credit.” Pictures of Troy, along with photos of stacks of cash and what looks like saran wrapped cocaine all stacked in the bed of his truck. “You actually expect me to believe that your husband was up to his eyes in millions of dollars in cash and coke for months and nobody around him knew? That no one saw or heard anything? You can’t blink and miss this kind of haul.”

  The breath rushes out of me on a whoosh as I stare blankly at the images before me. “I… I don’t… I didn’t…” I stammer, unable to find my words. “I never would’ve been part of this.”

  “You’re a smart woman, you know how this works.” Dropping to his chair again, he picks up his pen. “I don’t think you had anything to do with the drugs. The women may not do the dirty work, but I’ll guarantee you hear things in passing. That’s all I want from you. Give me something to take back to my superiors on Lorzano. Help me get them off the street before they can hurt anyone else.”